CI  Bk. 


Trinity  College  Library 

Durham,  N.  C. 


Rec’d  u 31,  \ cl..'2v_3 

’Obrary  Fund 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/lifeofgoethe31biel 


The  LIFE  OF  GOETHE 


B y 

Jtlbert  Bielschoivsky,  Ph.D. 

Three  volumes,  8vo,  Illvistrated 

1.  From  Birth  to  the  Return  from  Italy, 

1749-1788 

2.  From  the  Italian  Journey  to  the  Wars  of 

Liberation,  1788-1815 

3.  From  the  Congress  of  Vienna  to  the  Poet’s 

Death,  1815-1832 


G.P.  Putnam’s  Sons 


New  York 


London 


LIFE  OF  GOETHE 


BY 

,,  t-,  \ . V.  THE  TT  ’.iAN 


■ VS'-:  - , A.vl. 

Goethe,  Aetat.  79 

(From  Life  and  Times  of  Goschen,  by  permissian  of  John  Murray) 

THRES  VOLUME • 


VOLUME  ID 
..  S 5-1832 

FROM  i : CONGRESS  OF  VIEN  '■  V 

TO  THE  POET’S  DEATH 


ILLUSTRAT  F ’ ! 


, . :=  : r • ■ 

0 ■ « • r>‘  s 

Zbü  ftrsi-;:  . : - '•  *3 


THE 


LIFE  OF  GOETHE 


BY 

ALBERT  BIELSCHOWSKY,  Ph.D. 


AUTHORISED  TRANSLATION  FROM  THE  GERMAN 


WILLIAM  A.  COOPER,  A.M. 

ASSISTANT  PROFESSOR  OF  GERMAN,  STANFORD  UNIVERSITY 


THREE  VOLUMES 


VOLUME  III 

i 8 i 5-1832 

FROM  THE  CONGRESS  OF  VIENNA 
TO  THE  POET’S  DEATH 


ILLUSTRATED 

(^Z.5Z.O 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Ube  fmicfcerbocfter  lpress 

1912 


Copyright,  1908 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 


tTbe  Vtnfcfeerbocker  pn»,  *ew  Bork 


TRANSLATOR’S  PREFACE 


lo 

-<  .1 


IN  theprefaceto  the  first volume  I proraised  to  insert  here  a 
Statement  of  what  was  added  to  Bielschowsky’s  un- 
finished  manuscript  to  make  his  biography  of  Goethe 
complete.  Long  before  it  became  probable  that  he  might 
not  be  spared  to  complete  his  great  task  he  had  cherished  the 
wish  that  a special  discussion  of  Goethe  as  a scientist  might 
be  contributed  by  some  one  especially  well  versed  in  that 
phase  of  the  poet’s  activity.  This  wish  is  fulfilled  in  the 
chapter  entitled  “The  Naturalist”  (iii.,  81-134),  which  was 
written  by  Professor  S.  Kalischer  of  Berlin.  Professor  Max 
Friedländer  of  Berlin  added  the  note  bearing  the  heading 
“Goethe’s  Poems  Set  to  Music”  (pp.  374-376).  The  most 
extensive  additions  were  made  by  Professor  Theobald 
Ziegler  of  Strasburg,  who  finished  the  chapter  on  Faust 
(beginning  in  the  middle  of  p.  271)  and  wrote  the  concluding 
chapter  (pp.  359-369),  beside  inserting  an  account  of 
Goethe’s  attitude  toward  romanticism  (pp.  1 43-1 49),  and 
his  relation  to  the  philosophers  Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel 
(ii.,  179-181).  The  notes  signed  “Z”  are  also  by  him. 
Professors  Imelmann  and  Roethe  of  Berlin  revised  Biel- 
schowsky’s manuscript  from  the  point  of  view  of  style, 
and  Dr.  Franz  Leppmann  of  Berlin  lent  the  German  publisher 
other  assistance  in  bringing  out  the  finished  work. 

In  the  preparation  of  the  index  of  the  translation  it  has 
seemed  best  to  work  independently  of  that  of  the  original. 
I have  included  among  the  topics  the  various  subjects  in 
which  Goethe  was  interested  and  the  first  line  of  each  pas- 
sage  of  German  verse  cited  in  the  text,  except  extracts 
from  a work  under  consideration.  In  case  the  source  of  the 

iii 


G2.5ZO 


iv  Granölator's  ipteface 

quotation  is  not  given  in  the  context  I have  indicated  it  in 
the  index. 

In  verifying  references,  so  far  as  the  books  were  accessible 
to  me,  I found  it  necessary  to  correct  a number  of  misprinted 
names,  dates,  titles,  and  editions.  A few  errors  of  the 
kind  that  escaped  me  at  first,  together  with  some  misprints 
which  were  not  corrected  in  the  first  two  volumes  of  the 
translation,  may  be  found  in  a list  of  errata  at  the  end  of 
this  volume. 

I wish  to  acknowledge  here  my  indebtedness  and  grati- 
tude  to  Professor  B.  O.  Foster  for  his  valuable  criticism 
of  the  manuscript  of  the  second  and  third  volumes  and  for 
his  help  in  reading  the  proof;  also  to  Professor  G.  J.  Peirce 
for  helpful  suggestions  on  certain  portions  of  the  two  volumes. 

To  know  Goethe  well  is  an  education  in  itself.  An 
intimate  acquaintance  with  his  inner  life  and  his  conception 
of  the  mission  of  the  poet  in  the  world  cannot  fail  to  broaden 
and  deepen  the  spiritual  life  of  the  serious-minded  man  of 
to-day.  This  biography,  with  its  rare  insight  into  the  poet’s 
true  nature,  is  accordingly  sent  forth  in  its  new  form  with 
the  hope  that  it  may  bear  to  an  otherwise  inaccessible  public 
its  story  of  a great  genius  devoted  to  the  higher  ideals  of 
human  culture. 

W.  A.  C. 

Stanford  University. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I. — Marianne  von  Willemer  ....  i 
Goethe’s  mental  flight  to  the  Orient — Hafiz’s  Divan  and 
Goethe ’s  West-östlicher  Divan — Journey  to  the  Rhine — 

Sankt  Rochus-Fest  zu  Bingen — Goethe  designs  a painting 
for  the  altar  of  the  restored  chapel — Guest  of  the  Bren- 
tanos on  the  Rhine — And  of  the  Schlossers  in  Frank- 
fort— Sulpiz  Boisseree  interests  him  in  old  Dutch  paint- 
ing and  in  the  movement  for  the  completion  of  the 
Cologne  cathedral — Goethe  his  guest  in  Heidelberg — 

Return  to  Frankfort — The  Willemers — Goethe  and 
Marianne,  Hatem  and  Suleika— Goethe  returns  to  the 
Rhine  the  following  summer — Guest  of  Minister  vom 
Stein — They  journey  together  to  Cologne — Goethe  the 
guest  of  the  Willemers  at  the  Gerbermühle— Love  be- 
tween  the  poet  and  Marianne — Their  poetical  epistles — 

Later  meeting  in  Heidelberg — Memories  of  Lili  and 
Friederike — Goethe’s  sudden  departure  for  home — 

Death  of  Christiane — A return  to  the  Rhine  prevented 
by  an  accident — Marianne’s  poems  incorporated  in 
West-östlicher  Divan. 

II. — The  Lyric  Poet  ......  30 

Goethe  the  inspired  poet — The  mystery  of  his  power — 

His  talent  an  irresistible  natural  force — Spinozistic  ex- 
planation  of  the  poet’s  twofold  nature — Goethe’s  object 
in  writing  poetry— His  poetic  vision  and  creation — His 
normality  and  superiority — Comparison  with  Heine — 
Goethe’s  poems  are  like  painted  window-panes — The 
genetic  method  of  interpreting  them — Harzreise  im  Win- 
ter— Various  ways  in  which  poems  originated — Trans- 
formations through  which  they  passed — An  den  Mond 
and  Der  Fischer — Goethe’s  reasons  for  making  altera- 
tions — His  advance  beyond  his  predecessors — Influence 
of  Herder  and  folk-poetry — Subject  matter  of  his  poems 
true  and  genuine — They  reflect  typical  truth — Their 
deep  significance  and  symbolism — Wonne  der  Wehmut — 
v 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

Social  songs — Ballads — Subjects  from  religious  history — 

Die  Braut  von  Korinth — Die  erste  Walpurgisnacht — Pa- 
ria— Der  Gott  und  die  Bajadere — Hochzeitlied — Ballade 
vom  vertriebenen  und  zurückkehrenden  Grafen — Symbolic 
meaning  of  these  ballads — Der  getreue  Eckart— Erlkönig 
— Der  König  in  Thule — Inwardness  in  Goethe’s  ballads — 

His  own  experiences  embodied  in  them — Goethe’s  ein- 
ployment  of  contrast  in  his  poems — His  resolution  of 
apparent  discords  into  harmonies — His  serenity — His 
mastery  of  the  art  of  representation — Objectivity — 
Inclination  to  symbolism — Vivid  word-pictures,  espe- 
cially  of  nature  and  human  beings — Auf  dem  See — Music 
in  his  verse  and  prose,  even  letters — Sources  of  his  word- 
xnusic — Verse  forms  which  he  employed — Tones  lacking 
in  his  lyre — Place  of  Goethe’s  poetry  in  the  spiritual  life 
of  Germany. 

III. — The  Naturalist  ......  81 

Harmony  between  Goethe’s  Science  and  his  art — His 
natural  inclination  toward  Science — Anatomy  and  oste- 
ology — Spinoza’s  influence  on  Goethe — Consistency  of 
nature — Discovery  of  the  intermaxillary  in  man — The 
discovery  rejected  by  most  of  the  leading  anatomists  of 
the  day — Not  fully  recognised  tili  forty  years  later — 

Botany — Discovery  of  the  metamorphosis  of  plants — 

Its  significance — Long  denied  recognition — Idea  of  evo- 
lution  contained  in  it — The  genetic  method — Mastery 
of  art  by  study  of  nature — Beauty  the  manifestation  of 
secret  laws  of  nature — Goethe’s  rejection  of  teleology — 
Discovery  of  the  new  Science  of  morphology — The  orig- 
inal type — Goethe  and  Linne — Theory  of  descent — Fun- 
damental principle  of  continuity — Struggle  for  existence 
— Formative  impulse — Mutual  influence  of  parts — Ver- 
tebral theory  of  the  skull — Geology— Paleontology — 

The  ice  age — Meteorology — Meteorological  stations — 

Theory  of  colours — The  law  of  visual  processes — Ab- 
klingen— Translucent  media — Goethe’s  rejection  of  New- 
ton’s  theory — Antagonistic  colours — Fundamental  law 
of  colour  harmony — Polarity — Goethe’s  history  of  the 
theory  of  colours — His  scientific  lectures — Museums  of 
Science — Goethe’s  influence  on  later  scientists— His 
method — His  study  of  nature  and  his  reügion — The 
poet  and  the  investigator. 

IV  . — After  the  Wars  of  Liberation  . . . 135 

Weimar  becomes  a grand  duchy — Goethe’s  position  in 
the  new  ministry — Karl  August  grants  a Constitution — 
Goethe’s  attitude  toward  it — His  displeasure  with  free- 
dom  of  the  press — The  Wartburg  celebration  and  its 


CHAPTER 


Contents 


Vll 


consequences — Murder  of  Kotzebue  agitates  Germany — 
Goethe’s  attitude  toward  the  reaction — He  objects  to 
romanticism  in  the  tercentenary  of  the  reformation— His 
relation  to  the  older  romanticists — To  the  younger  gen- 
eration — Bettina  Brentano — Romanticism  in  Goethe’s 
writings — Contrasts  between  his  theory  of  art  and  that 
of  the  new  school — His  pronounced  Protestantism — 

His  self-liberation  as  compared  with  political  freedom — 

His  resignation  as  theatre  director  in  reality  a dismissal 
— Causes  leading  up  to  it — Effect  on  him — His  seventieth 
birthday — Interview  with  Metternich — Sojourn  at  Ma- 
rienbad— The  Levetzows — Goethe’s  relation  to  Ulrike — 

His  desire  to  marry  her — His  misunderstanding  of  her 
veiled  refusal — Conditions  in  his  home  since  August’s 
marriage — The  Marienbad  Elegie — August’s  reception 
of  the  news  of  his  father’s  matrimonial  project — Goethe 
wavers  between  resignation  and  hope,  but  finally  resigns 
himself — Ulrike ’s  further  history. 

V. — From  1824  TO  1830.  .....  162 

Goethe’s  house  his  monastery — Description  of  it — His 
way  of  working — His  assistants — Eckermann  and  his 
Gespräche  mit  Goethe — Great  stream  of  visitors  at  Goe- 
the’s home — Distinguished  guests — Goethe  a grand- 
father — His  youthfulness,  in  spite  of  his  years — Typ- 
ical  extracts  from  his  conversations — His  humour — His 
angry  moods — Novelle — Biographical  writings — New 
complete  edition  of  his  works — His  many-sided  inter- 
ests — His  thirst  for  knowledge — His  attitude  toward 
new  literary  tendencies — His  reading  of  newspapers  and 
periodicals — His  habit  of  viewing  things  in  their  broad, 
general  relations — His  recognition  of  his  own  place  in 
history — His  striving  after  goodness  and  purity — His 
spiritual  transformation — The  springtime  of  his  soul — 

His  humility — His  power  over  his  contemporaries  due 
to  his  great  humanity — The  jubilees  of  Karl  August’s 
coming  to  the  throne  and  Goethe’s  arrival  in  Weimar — 

Death  of  Karl  August — Goethe’s  sojourn  at  the  Castle 
of  Dornburg — Dem  auf  gehenden  Vollmonde — Zwischen 
beiden  Welten — Death  of  Frau  von  Stein — Death  of 
Grand  Duchess  Luise — Death  of  Goethe’s  son  August — 

The  poet’s  power  of  recuperation. 

VI. — Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre  . . . 189 

Die  Lehrjahre  implies  a sequel — Composition  of  the  new 
novel — General  plan — Die  Wahlverwandtschaften — Pub- 
lication  of  “First  Part” — The  novel  gains  by  holding 
back  of  “Second  Part” — New  sociological  theories — 

The  work  finally  published — Additions  to  second  and 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

third  volumes  eliminated  in  later  editions — The  novel 
an  aggregation — Carelessness  in  redaction — Work  and 
resignation  the  fundamental  ideas — Wilhelm  com- 
manded  to  travel — His  instructions — Aimless  wander- 
ings — Visit  with  a handicraftsman — Sankt  Joseph  der 
Zweite — The  handicraftsman  a Symbol  of  the  working 
world — Reasons  for  this  choice — Wilhelm  visits  Jarno — 

His  inclination  to  become  a surgeon — The  age  of  special- 
ties — The  giant’s  cave — Visit  to  the  uncle — The  uncle’s 
work — Contrast  with  the  uncle  of  Die  Lehrjahre — Die  pil- 
gernde Törin — Wer  ist  der  Verräter? — Visit  to  Makarie — 
Contrast  with  the  Beautiful  Soul — Wilhelm’s  introduc- 
tion  to  astronomy — The  starry  heavens  and  the  moral 
law — Das  nussbraune  Mädchen — Felix  in  the  pedagogical 
province— Der  Mann  von  fünfzig  Jahren — Wilhelm  finds 
Nachodine — Visit  to  Mignon’s  old  home — Journey  to 
Lago  Maggiore — Lenardo — Wilhelm  studies  surgery — 

Tour  of  the  “ pedagogical  province” — The  social  Com- 
munity and  the  democratic  community — The  “ Bond  ” — 
Economic  revolution  foreshadowed — Nachodine  and 
Lenardo — Work  of  the  “ Bond” — Die  neue  Melusine — 

Goethe  and  emigration — Odoard’s  colonisation  scheme 
— The  “ Bond”  divided — Purification  of  Philine  and 
Lydie — Felix’s  suit  for  Hersilie — Rejected,  he  rides  into 
a river,  but  is  rescued  by  his  father — Natalie  and  Frau 
von  Stein — The  emigrants  in  the  New  World — Their 
government— -Valuation  of  time — World  piety — Need  of 
new  men — New  educational  theories — Goethe’s  System, 
as  seen  in  the  “pedagogical  province” — Subjects  and 
methods — Prominence  of  music — Reverence  for  the  di- 
vine  in  one’s  seif — Three  picture  galleries — Three  styles 
of  greeting — Impression  of  the  novel  as  a whole — The 
gospel  of  labour — The  educated  dass  of  the  day — Goe- 
the’s plea  for  less  theory  and  more  practice — General 
lack  of  interest  in  public  afiairs — The  brotherhood  of 
man — World  piety. 


..  VII. — Faust  ........  247 

Faust  Goethe’s  life-work — The  theme — Unconscious 
work  on  the  drama — Seeking  after  God — The  puppet 
play  of  Doktor  Faust — Correspondences  between  its  mo- 
tives  and  Goethe’s  experiences — Beginning  of  conscious 
work  on  the  drama — Scenes  probably  written  first  and 
probable  order  in  whicli  they  wete  written — Goethe’s 
willingness  to  read  portions  of  the  work  to  friends — The 
Urfaust — Further  work  on  the  drama — The  Fragment 


Contents 

CHAPTER 

of  1 790 — Comparison  between  it  and  ths  Urfaust — 
Composition  again  resumed  at  Schiller’s  urging — Com- 
pleted  First  Part  published  in  1808 — Influence  of  By- 
ron’s  death  on  composition  of  Second  Part — The  Helena 
published  in  1827 — Further  work  lightened  by  enthusi- 
asm  over  idea  of  completing  Second  Part — Fragment  of 
the  first  act  published  in  1828 — The  drama  finished  July 
22,  1831,  but  not  published  tili  after  the  poet’s  death — 
The  historical  Faust — The  first  Faust  book — Marlowe’s 
Faustus — Faust  motives  in  the  sixteenth  Century — Sim- 
ilar  motives  in  the  period  of  Goethe’s  youth — Analysis 
and  criticism  of  the  Fragment  of  1 790 : Faust’s  first  mono- 
logue,  the  macrocosm,  the  Earth-Spirit,  conversation 
with  Wagner,  Mephistopheles,  his  relation  to  the  Earth- 
Spirit,  the  humorous  devil  and  his  function  in  the 
drama,  Mephistopheles  and  the  Student,  “Auerbach’s 
Cellar,”  “ Witches’  Kitchen,”  first  scenes  of  the  Gretchen 
tragedy,  Faust’s  confession  of  faith,  the  closing  scene  in 
the  cathedral — The  Gretchen  tragedy  not  finished  in  the 
Fragment — Analysis  and  criticism  of  what  the  complete 
edition  of  1808  contained  more  than  the  Fragment:  the 
close  of  the  Gretchen  tragedy,  Valentine,  “ Walpurgis 
Night,”  “ Walpurgis  Night’s  Dream,”  “ Dismal  Day,” 

“ Night — Open  Field,”  “Prison,”  end  of  the  First  Part, 
Goethe’s  change  of  style,  Faust  now  a symbolical  char- 
acter,  distinction  between  the  symbolical  and  the  alle- 
gorical,  the  philosophical  element  in  Faust  and  the 
difficulty  it  gave  Goethe,  “ Prelude  on  the  Stage,”  “ Pro- 
logue  in  Heaven,”  the  mystery  of  evil  in  the  world,  the 
wager  between  the  Lord  and  the  devil,  the  problem  of 
Faust’s  salvation,  Faust’s  second  monologue,  Easter 
chimes,  youthful  remembrances,  “ Before  the  City  Gate,” 
Faust’s  third  monologue,  the  exorcism  of  Mephistophe- 
les, the  devil  goes  away  and  then  comes  again,  Faust’s 
curses,  chorus  of  spirits,  compact  and  wager  between 
Faust  and  Mephistopheles — From  the  little  world  to  the  * 
great — Difficulty  of  the  transition  for  Goethe — Analysis 
and  criticism  of  the  Second  Part:  Opening  scene,  the 
Emperor’s  Court,  the  paper  money  scheme,  the  masquer- 
ade,  the  “mothers,”  Helena  conjured  up,  the  second  act, 
Homunculus,  the  Baccalaureus,  “ Classical  Walpurgis 
Night,”  the  Helena  act,  its  significance,  the  fourth  act, 
the  fifth  act,  Care,  Faust  learns  self-limitation,  the  su- 
preme  moment,  Faust’s  death,  the  contest  over  his  soul 
at  the  grave,  he  is  saved,  his  ascension,  unsatisfactori- 
ness  of  the  ending — Closing  criticism  of  the  Second  Part 
and  the  whole  drama — Faust  a universal  human  type — 
What  the  drama  may  mean  to  us. 


ix 

PAGE 


X 


Contents 


VIII. — Last  Days  . ....  359 

Goethe  warned  by  illness  to  set  his  house  in  order — The 
last  works  he  finished — Interests  and  occupations  of  his 
last  days — His  last  distinguished  guests — His  last  birth- 
day — Visit  to  Ilmenau — Wanderers  Nachtlied — Goethe 
sets  his  house  in  Order — His  religion — Last  illness  and 
death — The  funeral — Goethe’s  significance  to  Germany 
and  the  whole  world. 

Notes  . ........  373 

Index  . ........  387 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGS 

Goethe,  Aetat.  79  ...  Frontispiece 

(From  Life  and  Times  of  Goschen,  by  permission  of  John  Murray) 


Marianne  .........  3 

(From  Könnecke’s  Bilderatlas) 


Goethe  by  Kolbe  .......  94 

(From  Heinemann’s  Goethe) 


The  Goethe  Monument  at  Rome  . . . . 320 


(Designed  by  Gustav  Eberlein) 


ERRATA 


Read  as  follows: 

Vol.  I.,  p.  3,  1.  25,  Die  erste  Walpurgisnacht. 

p.  76,  1.  17,  Hamburgische  Dramaturgie. 

p.  76, 1.  29,  The  Literaturbriefe . 

p.  95,  1.  4,  Lorraine. 

p.  100,  1.  1,  Lorraine. 

p.  118,  1.  3,  Mailied  and  Heidenröslein. 

p.  133, 1.  33,  Weislingen. 

p.  157,  1.  10 ff.,  Wilhelm  Jerusalem  (born  in  1747),  son  of 
the  famous  Brunswick  abbot,  and  a 
friend  of  Lessing,  Eschenburg,  and 
the  crown  prince  of  Brunswick,  etc. 
p.  204, 1.  32,  Brief  des  Pastors  etc. 
p.  210,  1.  10/.,  Es  war  ein  Bule  frech  genung. 
p.  211,1.  20,  ode  An  Schwager  Kronos. 
p.  226, 1.  19,  SBonne. 
p.  232, 1.  7,  Weimar, 
p.  248,  1.  34,  irreguliers. 
p.  249,  11.  6,  9,  Satyros. 
p.  252,  1.  12,  Satyros. 
p.  258, 1.  10,  ©tter§burg§. 
p.  258, 1.  35,  Ettersburg, 
p.  269,  1.  11,  1781. 
p.  297, 1.  28,  9J?onbe  be§. 
p.  318,  1.  23,  Ettersburg, 
p.  406,  1.  12,  Elegien. 
p.  418,  1.  1,  Im  neuen  Reich. 
p.  424,  1.  11,  Ettersburg, 
p.  430, 1.  26,  Frauenbilder  etc. 
p.  433,  1.  46,  Knebels  literarischer  Nachlass. 
p.  434,  1.  26,  do. 

Vol.  II.,  p.  31,  1.  30,  drama,  Egmont. 
p.  103, 1.  19,  reineren  Wulfen, 
p.  157,  1.  17,  constant. 
p.  188,  1.  19,  Schiller’s. 
p.  290,  1.  31,  ftd). 
p.  426,  1.  12,  Weimar. 


The  Life  of  Goethe 


i 

MARIANNE  VON  WILLEMER 

Goethe’s  mental  flight  to  the  Orient — Hafiz’s  Divan  and  Goethe’s  West- 
östlicher  Divan — Journey  to  the  Rhine — Sankt  Rochus-Fest  zu 
Bingen — Goethe  designs  a painting  for  the  altar  of  the  restored 
chapel — Guest  of  the  Brentanos  on  the  Rhine — And  of  the  Schlos- 
sers in  Frankfort — Sulpiz  Boisseree  interests  him  in  old  Dutch 
painting  and  in  the  movement  for  the  completion  of  the  Cologne 
cathedral — Goethe  his  guest  in  Heidelberg — Return  to  Frank- 
fort— The  Willemers — Goethe  and  Marianne,  Hatem  and  Suleika 
— Goethe  returns  to  the  Rhine  the  following  summer — -Guest  of 
Minister  vom  Stein — They  journey  together  to  Cologne — Goethe 
the  guest  of  the  Willemers  at  the  Gerbermühle — Love  between 
the  poet  and  Marianne — Their  poetical  epistles — Later  meeting  in 
Heidelberg — Memories  of  Lili  and  Friederike— Goethe’s  sudden 
departure  for  home — Death  of  Christiane — A return  to  the  Rhine 
prevented  by  an  accident — Marianne ’s  poems  incorporated  in 
West-östlicher  Divan. 

DXJRING  the  storms  of  war  Goethe  had  more  and 
more  withdrawn,  in  spirit,  from  the  European 
world  and  taken  refuge  in  the  original  abode  of 
man  in  Asia,  in  Order  in  those  far-off  regions  to  restore 
that  serene  harmony  of  his  being  which  had  been  disturbed 
by  the  discordant  notes  of  the  restless  age.  It  was  only 
natural  that  the  trend  of  events  should  tum  the  eyes  of 
all  to  the  Orient.  As  in  the  days  of  the  crusades,  the 
West,  under  the  banner  of  Napoleon,  had  invaded  the  East, 
and  the  Syrian  highlands  were  drenched  with  Occidental 

VOL.  III.— I 


I 


2 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


blood.  And  again  almost  all  the  Western  nations  advanced 
united,  if  not  directly  on  Asia,  at  least  on  a city  which  lay 
close  to  its  portals,  the  ancient  Capital  Moscow.  Then,  as 
after  the  crusades,  though  much  more  quickly,  great  floods 
of  Orientais  came  sweeping  over  Western  Europe.  Mo- 
hammedan  troopers  watered  their  steeds  in  the  Seine, 
and  a Mohammedan  religious  Service  was  held  in  the  Weimar 
Gymnasium.  This  close  touch  of  Orient  and  Occident, 
which  the  war  had  brought  about,  was  paralleled  by  peace- 
ful  developments.  A general  spiritual  drift  toward  the 
East  had  made  itself  feit.  Scientific  striving  after  knowledge 
was  accompanied  by  a fantastic  longing  for  the  sensuous 
charms  of  the  Orient  and  for  a long,  peaceful  dream  in 
its  spiritual  atmosphere,  in  which  poetry,  philosophy,  re- 
ligion,  and  life  were  inseparably  intermingled. 

Goethe  participated  in  this  general  movement,  though 
in  a different  sense,  and  for  a different  immediate  reason, 
than  that  which  actuated  most  people.  Such  a course  of 
investigation  had  long  been  one  of  the  recognised  necessities 
of  his  education.  Of  the  European  countries  and  their 
intellectual  life  he  had  formed  clear  conceptions;  Asia, 
with  the  exception  of  the  small  comer  into  which  the 
Bible  had  given  him  an  insight,  had  been  wholly,  or  at 
least  half,  veiled  from  his  view.  And  yet  there  was  so  much 
in  religion  and  history,  in  art  and  poetry,  that  pointed 
to  those  remarkable  regions,  which  had  early  risen  to  a 
high  state  of  civilisation  and  then  sunk  into  a silent  lethargy. 

Goethe  undertook  the  investigation  on  a comprehensive 
scale.  He  carried  his  studies  eastward  to  the  shores  of  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  in  order  to  get  a full  grasp  of  the  peculiarities 
of  the  neighbouring  continent.  China  and  India  could  not 
hold  his  attention ; China  was  too  barren,  India  too  monstrous 
a jumble.  Persia,  on  the  other  hand,  tempted  him  to 
linger.  He  became  acquainted  with  the  culture  of  this 
country  through  its  most  congenial  representative,  Hafiz, 
the  celebrated  poet  of  the  fourteenth  Century.  Hammer’s 
translation  of  Hafiz’s  collection  of  songs,  the  Divan,  had 
appeared  in  1812  and  1813,  and  Goethe  needed  but  to  read 


flDarianne  von  WiUemer 


3 


the  introduction  to  this  work  to  be  most  strongly  attracted 
by  the  life  and  writings  of  his  Oriental  brother.  The 
bard  of  Shiraz  seemed  the  very  image  of  himself.  Had  he 
himself,  perchance,  lived  once  before  upon  the  earth  in 
the  form  of  the  Persian?  Here  was  the  same  joy  of  earth 
and  love  of  heaven,  the  same  simplicity  and  depth,  truth- 
fulness  and  straightforwardness,  warmth  and  passionate- 
ness,  and,  finally,  the  same  openness  of  heart  toward  every 
thing  human  and  the  same  receptive  mind,  free  from 
institutional  limitations.  Did  not  the  same  thing  apply  to 
him  that  the  Persians  said  of  their  poet,  when  they  called  him 
“the  mystic  tongue”  and  “the  interpreter  of  mysteries, ”* 
and  when  they  said  of  his  poems  that  to  outward  appearance 
they  were  simple  and  unadomed,  but  that  they  had  a deep, 
truth-fathoming  significance  and  highest  perf ection  of  form  ? 
And  had  not  Hafiz,  like  him,  enjoyed  the  favour  of 
the  humble  and  the  great?  Had  he  not  also  conquered  a 
conqueror,  the  mighty  Timur?  And  had  he  not  out  of 
the  destruction  and  ruin  saved  his  own  serenity,  and  con- 
tinued  to  sing  peacefully  as  before  under  the  old  accustomed 
conditions  ? 

Thus  Goethe  found  in  Hafiz  a beloved  brother  of  a 
former  age,  and,  gladly  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
Oriental  kinsman,  produced,  to  compete  with  the  Eastem 
Divan , one  in  the  West,  which  had  to  be  styled  West-Eastern, 
as  the  Western  poet  blended  the  ideas  and  forms  of  the 
East  with  those  of  the  West,  and  boldly  assumed  the 
mask  of  the  Persian  singer  without  sacrificing  an  iota  of 
his  own  pronounced  personality.  Behind  this  inwardly  as- 
sumed mask  Goethe  joumeyed  in  July,  1814,  to  the  re- 
gions  of  the  Rhine  and  the  Main.  The  first  laconic  word 
in  the  journal  of  his  travels  is  “ Hafiz.” 

For  many  years  he  had  longed  to  see  again  the  beloved 
region  of  his  native  country,  with  its  greater  wealth  of  pro- 
ducts  and  its  more  gaily  coloured  dress.  But  physicians 
and  politics  had  always  compelled  him  eastward.  Now 

* Goethe  applies  these  names  to  himself  in  Offenbar  Geheimnis  ( W ., 
vi.,  41). 


4 


ftfoe  Xife  of  Goetbe 


that  benign  peace  reigned  over  Europe  and  Germany  he 
could  no  longer  be  restrained.  He  persuaded  his  physicians 
to  send  him  to  Wiesbaden  and,  on  the  251dl  of  July,  set 
out  for  the  Rhine. 

It  gave  him  infinite  pleasure;  he  was  as  happy  as  on  the 
day  when  he  first  set  out  for  the  classic  scenes  of  Italy. 
His  divining  spirit  anticipated  new  life  and  new  love,  and  as 
a corroboration  of  his  anticipations  he  saw  through  the  fog, 
as  he  drove  out  from  Weimar,  the  heavens  spanned  with 
a rainbow.  “ It  is  white,  to  be  sure,  but  still  it  is  a rainbow.” 

©0  follft  bu,  muntrer  ©reiö, 

Tüd)  nicht  betrüben, 

©inb  gleich  bie  £aare  roeijj, 

®od)  rauft  bu  lieben.*' 

He  did  not  have  as  many  white  hairs  as  his  rhyme  would 
lead  us  to  believe ; they  had  hardly  begun  to  appear  among 
the  brown,  with  which  his  head  was  still  thickly  crowned. 

The  poet  continued  his  joumey,  passing  through  Erfurt, 
where  his  old  acquaintances  the  shop-women  nodded  him 
friendly  greetings — “and  I still  seemed,  after  many  years, 
to  be  well  received  and  well  liked.”  On  the  following  day 
he  gazed  up  at  the  Wartburg  and  the  forests  which  envelop 
it.  Memories  of  the  days  when  he  had  here  spent  his  rage 
as  he  followed  the  chase,  the  days  when  he  had  experi- 
enced  the  joys  and  the  sorrows  of  love,  arose  again  within  his 
breast : 


Unb  ba  buftet’3  raie  nor  alterS, 

T>a  rair  nod)  Don  Siebe  litten, 

Unb  bie  ©aiten  meinet  ^JfalterS 
9Tit  bem  9Äorgenftral)l  fid)  ftritten; 

ba§  Sagblieb  au§  beu  ©üfdjen 
güUe  runben  £onä  entbaudjte, 


* On  thee  the  years  sit  light, 

Let  hope  elate  thee; 

E’en  though  thy  hair  be  white, 
Love ’s  joys  await  thee. 


flDarianne  von  TKHUlemer 


5 


5lngufeuern,  31t  etfrifdjett, 

2öie’$  ber  SBufett  rooHf  unb  brauste.* 

In  Hünfeld  he  mingled  with  the  visitors  at  the  fair, 
and  as  he  had  become  young  again,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
as  though  he  were  once  more  Lavater’s  disciple,  he  revived 
his  physiognomic  skill  and  examined  the  faces  of  soldiers 
and  maids,  civilians  and  peasants,  after  the  fashion  humor- 
ously  described  in  his  Jahrmarkt  zu  Hünfeld.  The  restora- 
tion  of  his  youthful  powers  is  shown  in  the  way  in  which 
every  little  event  shaped  itself  in  his  mind  into  a poem. 

On  the  fourth  day  of  his  joumey  he  arrived  in  his  native 
city,  from  which  for  seventeen  years  he  had  been  separated 
by  apparently  insuperable  hindrances.  Recently,  while 
engaged  in  writing  the  history  of  his  youth,  he  had  feit 
in  his  heart  a great  yeaming  to  visit  once  more  the  scenes 
of  those  early  years.  Hence  he  announced  his  entry 
into  the  city  in  words  almost  as  solemn  as  he  had  used  of 
his  first  arrival  in  Venice.f  “And  so  I drove  into  Frank- 
fort, Friday  evening,  the  28th,”  is  the  opening  sentence 
of  his  Frankfort  letter  to  his  wife.  For  the  present,  how- 
ever,  he  remained  only  a short  time.  He  wished  first  to 
take  the  eure  at  Wiesbaden  and  then  to  look  about  leisurely 
in  his  old  home  surroundings.  So  he  continued  his  joumey 
on  the  second  day. 

How  happy  he  was  to  view  again  this  beautiful,  more 
southem  landscape,  with  its  “highly  favoured  fields,  with 
its  meadows  reflected  in  the  river,  with  its  vine-clad  hills 
in  the  distance”!  Even  the  dust  of  the  fatherland,  as  a 
sign  of  the  south,  made  him  as  happy  as  it  had  on  the  way 
from  Bozen  to  Trent. 

* Then  ’t  is  fragrant  as  the  pleasures 
And  the  woes  of  love  long  gone, 

When  my  lyre’s  soft-swelling  measures 
Vied  with  brightly  beaming  dawn; 

When  the  huntsman’s  merry  singing, 

Echoing  through  copse  and  mead, 

Soul-refreshing,  spirit -bringing, 

Filled  our  heart’s  desire  and  need. 
f Vol.  i.,  p.  373. 


6 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


©taub,  bcn  l)ab’  tdj  längjf  entbehret 
3n  bem  ftetö  umhüllten  9forben, 

9lber  in  bem  beiden  ©üben 
3ft  er  mir  genugfam  morbcn.* 

A rain-storm  approaches,  and  “the  wind-tossed  dust  is 
driven  by  the  rain-drops  to  the  earth” — 

Unb  fogieibb  entfpringt  ein  Öeben, 

©cbmillt  ein  f)dlig  bdmlid)  Söirfen, 

Unb  e§  grnnelt  unb  es  grünet 
3n  ben  irbifc£)en  iBejirfen.f 

Under  these  good  omens  Goethe  arrived  in  Wiesbaden. 
He  met  there  his  noble  friend  Zelter  and  spent  with  him 
and  Councillor  of  Mines  Cramer,  an  able  mineralogist  and 
an  agreeable  companion,  five  beautiful  weeks.  Numerous 
excursions  to  the  Rhine,  whose  majestic  waters  and  beautiful, 
fertile  banks  never  lost  their  charm  for  him,  afforded 
a most  welcome  variety  in  the  midst  of  the  monotonous 
eure  at  the  baths.  One  such  excursion  was  to  St.  Rochus’  s 
chapel  above  Bingen.  The  injuries  which  the  chapel 
had  suffered  during  the  war  had  been  repaired  and  the 
sacred  edifice  was  now  rededicated.  As  the  dedicatory 
Service  assumed  somewhat  the  nature  of  a peace-celebration, 
in  which,  after  a long  period  of  sorrowful  Separation,  the 
dwellers  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Rhine  were  once  more  able 
to  unite  joyously  with  those  on  the  left  shore,  many  thou- 
sands  of  people  poured  in  from  all  sides.  The  unfolding  of 
the  spectacle  on  a most  perfect  day  and  in  a most  glorious 
setting  gave  Goethe  great  joy,  and  the  pious  naivete  of 
the  countrymen,  no  less  than  the  history  of  the  chapel  and 
its  saint,  aroused  his  interest  so  deeply  that  he  began  at 

* Dust  I long  have  been  deprived  of 
In  the  northem  cloud-veiled  clime, 

But  this  sunny  Southern  region 
Hath  the  dearth  supplied  betime. 

| Straightway  then  new  life  upspringeth, 

Swelled  by  sacred  powers  unseen, 

And  the  buds  and  blooms  of  springtime 
Fill  the  earth  with  grateful  sheen. 


Marianne  von  MiUemer 


7 


once  an  enthusiastic  description  of  the  celebration,  which 
he  greatly  enriched  by  historical  observations,  as  well  as 
by  comments  on  the  people  and  their  physical  environment. 
After  his  retum  home  he  also  designed  an  altar  picture, 
which  was  executed  by  Heinrich  Meyer  and  Luise  Seidler 
and  in  1816  was  presented  to  the  chapel. 

The  röle  of  a painter  of  pictures  of  saints  was  a tone 
that  had  hitherto  been  lacking  in  Goethe’s  register.  But  even 
here  he  remained  true  to  his  nature,  painting  neither  the 
agonies  of  martyrdom  nor  the  raptures  of  a saint,  neither 
an  emaciated  body  nor  a corpse.  He  portrayed,  rather, 
a pleasing,  sympathetic  scene,  in  which  a handsorne  youth 
(St.  Rochus)  with  amiable,  gentle  features  leaves  the 
palace  of  his  fathers  as  a joyous  pilgrim,  who  takes  cordial 
delight  in  distributing  his  gold  and  valuables  among  the 
children. 

On  the  ist  of  September  Goethe  accepted  an  invitation 
from  the  Brentanos  to  visit  them  at  their  country-seat  in 
Winkel  on  the  Rhine.  He  had  known  the  husband,  Franz 
Brentano,  from  childhood,  he  being  one  of  the  five  mother- 
less  littie  ones  of  whom  Maximiliane  [La  Roche]  assumed 
Charge  upon  her  marriage  with  their  father,  Peter  Brentano. 
At  the  death  of  his  father,  Franz  became  the  owner  of  the 
business  establishment  and  the  head  of  the  great  family. 
He  was  an  excellent  man  and  enjoyed  Goethe’s  highest  es- 
teem.  His  wife,  Antonie,  the  daughter  of  the  Austrian 
statesman  and  art-collector  von  Birkenstock,  was  amiable 
and  liberally  educated  and  had  made  Goethe’s  acquaintance 
in  Karlsbad  in  1812.  Goethe  spent  eight  glorious  days 
at  their  country-seat  and  while  there  visited  again  every 
nook  and  comer  of  the  Rheingau.  In  memory  of  the 
visit  Frau  Brentano  wrote  in  his  album,  in  imitation  of  a 
Klopstockian  stanza:  “Here  Nature  paused,  with  lingering 
tread,  and  from  a lavish  hand  poured  abounding  life  over 
hill  and  dale — here  you,  too,  were  pleased  to  linger  eight 
beautiful  days,  and  the  sunshine  of  your  presence  seemed  to 
me  the  perfection  of  grace.” 

Retuming  to  Wiesbaden  for  a few  days  Goethe  left 


8 


Gbe  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


on  the  i2th  of  September  for  Frankfort.  On  this  occasion 
he  was  able  to  observe  that  the  prophet  had  begun  to  enjoy 
some  honour  even  in  his  own  country.  Die  Oberpostamts- 
zeitung took  respectful  notice  of  his  arrival  in  the  following 
announcement : “His  Excellency,  the  Ducal  Saxe-Wei- 

marian  Privy  Councillor  Herr  von  Goethe,  the  greatest 
and  oldest  living  hero  of  our  literature,  arrived  yesterday, 
en  route  from  Wiesbaden,  in  his  native  city,  which  had  been 
deprived  of  his  enjoyable  presence  for  twenty  years.” 

In  Frankfort  Goethe  enjoyed,  as  he  had  in  Winkel,  the 
hospitality  of  the  second  generation.  He  was  the  guest 
of  Fritz  Schlosser,  the  son  of  Hieronymus,  and  the  nephew 
of  his  brother-in-law  Georg  Schlosser.  The  elder  generation 
had  passed  away.  The  sons  of  Hieronymus,  Fritz,  and 
Christian,  were  respected  among  the  citizens  of  Frankfort 
and  had  inherited  their  admiration  for  Goethe  from  their 
parents.  “From  the  days  of  our  childhood,”  said  Fritz 
later,  “ Goethe’s  star  had  shone  above  us  with  unwavering 
splendour.”  Fritz’s  wife,  likewise  a native  of  Frankfort, 
now  became  well  acquainted  with  Goethe  for  the  first  time, 
and  thereafter  so  fully  shared  the  feeling  of  her  husband 
that,  whenever  strangers  said  anything  against  the  poet 
after  his  death,  she  was  likely  to  end  the  dispute  with  an 
abrupt  “ You  did  not  know  him.” 

Goethe  was  extremely  happy  in  Schlosser’s  home,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  a broad  chasm  yawned  between  him 
and  his  hosts.  The  two  brothers,  deeply  emotional  natures, 
having  fallen  in  with  the  romantic  tendency  of  the  times, 
worshipped  the  unity  and  beauty  of  the  Middle  Ages  and 
showed  a preference  for  the  Catholic  Church.  Christian 
had  already  taken  the  full  consequences  of  his  attitude  and 
had  retumed  to  the  bosom  of  the  old  Church;  Fritz  and  his 
wife  were  just  on  the  point  of  taking  the  same  step.  Their 
sentiments  could  not  remain  a secret  to  Goethe,  but  how 
could  he,  who  recently,  in  his  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  had 
ascribed  so  much  good  to  the  seven  sacraments,  and,  in 
his  Wahlverwandtschaften,  had  with  unmistakable  personal 
delight  carried  Catholic  omamentation  and  belief  in  miracles 


Marianne 

(From  Könnecke’s  Bilderatlas) 


'■■'l 


flDarianne  von  TOüemer 


9 


into  a Protestant  church  and  region,  and  who  had  himself 
promised  an  altar  picture  for  St.  Rochus ’s  chapel, — how 
could  he  find  fault  with  the  Schlosser  family  for  taking  such 
a step,  when  they  did  it  out  of  the  purest  motives?  And 
yet,  little  as  he  may  have  expected  such  a thing  of  this 
family,  living  in  Frankfort,  a stronghold  of  Lutheranism, 
he  had  long  before  known  that  pietism  had  there  assumed 
a form  which  led,  almost  inevitably,  to  Catholicism.  Even 
his  dear  Christian  friend  Fräulein  von  Klettenberg  is  hardly, 
in  his  characterisation  of  her,  to  be  distinguished  from  a 
Catholic  believer. 

Goethe’s  Frankfort  circle  of  Catholic  and  Catholicising 
friends  was  further  enlarged  by  the  arrival  of  Sulpiz  Bois- 
seree.  This  young  man  from  Cologne  was  no  stranger  to 
him.  He  had  made  his  acquaintance  in  1811  in  Weimar 
and  had  found  him  very  congenial.  Sulpiz  and  his  brother 
Melchior  had  inherited  a large  commercial  establishment. 
They  applied  the  means  which  came  to  them  from  this 
source  to  a most  worthy  purpose.  Through  the  current 
of  the  age,  which  their  faith  supported,  they  were  drawn 
into  that  enthusiasm  for  the  Middle  Ages  which  with  them 
found  expression  in  a most  lively  interest  in  mediseval, 
particularly  Lower-Rhenish,  architecture  and  painting. 
Out  of  pure  devotion  Sulpiz,  the  better  known  of  the  two, 
became  absorbed  in  the  ruins  of  the  Cologne  cathedral 
and  portrayed  its  beauty  and  grandeur  in  a series  of  careful 
drawings  as  a contribution  toward  the  Propaganda  of 
Gothic  art  and  the  completion  of  the  sublime  structure. 
He  feit  that  the  cause  would  be  certain  of  a mighty  advance- 
ment  if  Goethe  could  be  persuaded  to  take  a kindly  interest 
in  it.  To  be  sure,  this  seemed  impossible,  in  view  of  the 
pronounced  declaration  of  adherence  to  the  principles  of 
antique  art  which  Goethe  had  made  to  the  world  ten  years 
before,  in  his  introduction  to  the  Winckelmann  letters.  But 
Sulpiz  made  the  attempt.  He  sent  Goethe  a part  of  his 
drawings  and  then  went  to  visit  him  in  person.  Through 
the  fine,  deep  understanding  with  which  he  explained  his 
drawings  he  succeeded  in  curing  the  reluctant  poet,  who 


IO 


Zbc  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


at  first  growled  like  a wounded  bear,  of  his  aversion  for 
Gothic  art,  to  such  an  extent  that  he  admitted  that  this 
art  is  an  historically  important  phenomenon  in  which 
one  ought  to  take  due  interest.  Along  with  the  gain  for 
the  cause  he  succeeded  in  winning  the  Olympian’s  interest 
in  his  own  personality  through  the  genuine  cordiality  and 
the  modest  independence  of  his  bearing.  The  privy 
councillor,  at  first  stiff  and  reserved,  dismissed  him  as  a 
fiiend  with  a hearty  embrace,  and  soon  afterward,  when 
he  came  to  deal,  in  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  with  the  Stras- 
burg cathedral,  he  made  cordial  recognition  of  Boisseree’s  en- 
deavours.  Boisseree  had  now  no  more  ardent  wish  than 
that  Goethe  should  visit  the  gallery  of  old  Lower-Rhenish 
and  old  Dutch  masters,  collected  by  himself,  his  brother, 
and  his  friend  Bertram,  which  they  had  taken  with  them 
when  they  moved  to  Heidelberg  in  1810. 

This  wish  seemed  at  last  near  fulfilment  and  Sulpiz 
came  to  Frankfort  to  escort  the  great  patron  to  his  and 
his  brother’s  home  in  Heidelberg.  Goethe  arrived  there  on 
the  2 4th  of  September  and  was  the  guest  of  the  Boisserees 
for  fourteen  days.  The  aftemoons  and  evenings  were  spent 
in  social  intercourse  with  the  many  Heidelberg  friends, 
among  others  Voss,  Paulus,  Thibaut,  and  Frau  von  Hum- 
boldt. The  mornings  were  given  up  entirely  to  the  study 
of  the  Boisseree  collection.  Goethe  devoted  himself  to 
it  with  astonishing  perseverance,  being  determined  to  obtain 
a clear  and  firm  grasp  of  this  field  of  art  heretofore  unknown 
to  him.  Every  morning  he  was  in  the  hall  by  eight  o’clock 
and  remained  there  tili  noon.  He  had  every  picture  taken 
down  separately  and  placed  on  an  easel  in  Order  that  he 
might  enjoy  it  to  the  full,  without  being  disturbed  by  its 
neighbours  on  the  wall.  His  admiration  increased  from  day 
to  day.  “O  children,”  he  exclaimed  several  times,  “how 
stupid  we  are!  We  fancy  that  our  grandmother  was  not 
beautiful  also.  They  were  entirely  different  people  from 
us,  you  see.  Let  us  take  them  for  what  they  were,  let  us 
praise  them,  let  us  praise  them  again  and  again!”  The 
Boisserdes  were  quite  rejoiced  over  their  success,  and 


Marianne  von  Mlüemer 


ii 


Sulpiz  announced  with  beaming  countenance  that  he  had 
converted  the  old  heathen  king  to  the  adoration  of  the  Ger- 
man Christ  child . But  if  he  meant  by  this  that  Goethe 
leamed  to  value  old  German  art,  if  not  above,  at  least  as 
highly  as,  Greek,  he  deceived  himself. 

On  his  retum  journey  to  Frankfort,  when,  in  Darmstadt, 
Goethe  wandered  about  among  the  plaster  casts  of  antique 
sculptures,  including  some  of  the  figures  of  the  Parthenon 
frieze,  old  German  art  again  receded  far  into  the  back- 
ground,  and  when  he  reached  home  he  remarked  to  Knebel : 
“ I have  feasted  at  the  Homeric  and  at  the  Nibelungen 
tables,  but  have  found  nothing  better  suited  to  my  personal 
taste  than  the  broad,  deep,  ever-living  nature  in  the  works 
of  the  Greek  poets  and  sculptors.” 

On  the  nth  of  October  Goethe  was  again  in  Frankfort. 
Although  the  season  was  far  advanced,  and  he  had  already 
made  one  long  sojoum  in  his  native  city,  he  nevertheless 
remained  nine  days  within  its  walls.  It  took  a strong 
magnet  to  hold  him  there.  The  magnet  in  question  was 
the  young  wife  of  the  banker  Privy  Councillor  Jakob  Wille- 
mer,  who  later  received  a patent  of  nobility.  Willemer 
was  only  eleven  years  younger  than  Goethe,  and  had  long 
been  acquainted  with  him — was  in  fact  his  friend.  He 
fully  deserved  the  poet’s  respect  and  friendship,  for  in 
talent  and  character  he  towered  far  above  the  average 
man.  Being  unhampered  by  his  calling,  he  cultivated  a 
surprising  number  of  fields  of  study  and  endeavour,  and 
his  influence  was  feit  in  all  of  them.  He  was  a writer, 
a philanthropist,  a pedagogist,  a political  economist,  a 
statesman,  a critic,  and  a member  of  the  board  of  directors 
of  the  Frankfort  Theatre.  In  the  year  1800  he  had  taken 
into  his  house  the  charming  actress  and  ballet-dancer 
Marianne  Jung,  a native  of  Linz,  Austria,  in  order  to  pro- 
tect  her  from  the  dangers  of  the  stage.  He  could  not  offer 
the  sixteen -year- old  girl  a mother,  for  he  was  a widower; 
but  he  did  provide  her  with  sisters  in  the  persons  of  his 
two  younger  daughters,  with  whom  she  was  to  live  and 
acquire  an  education.  With  her  charming  open  face, 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


I 2 

about  which  hung  a wealth  of  brown  curls,  and  with  her 
rieh  spiritual  gifts,  she  soon  became  the  star  of  the  home. 
She  was  of  a very  naive  and  most  delicate  nature.  There 
was  no  artificiality,  no  calculation,  in  her  conduct,  and 
with  all  her  cordiality,  vivacity,  and  gaiety,  there  was  some- 
thing  thoroughly  reserved  and  modest,  which  gave  her 
whole  being  an  air  of  happy  harmony.  The  depth  of  her 
emotions  and  thoughts  was  made  particularly  beautiful 
by  the  wonderful  graciousness  with  which  they  were  ex- 
pressed.  As  her  perceptions  were  clear  and  distinct,  the 
great  poetical  talent  which  the  gods  had  bestowed  upon  her, 
in  addition  to  her  other  good  qualities,  enabled  her  to 
compose  stanzas  not  to  be  distinguished  from  Goethe ’s 
on  the  same  occasion;  indeed,  some  of  them  shone  as  real 
pearls  among  his  own. 

It  was  a by  no  means  unimportant  factor  in  the  hospi- 
tality  of  the  Willemer  household  that  Marianne  possessed 
rare  social  talents.  By  virtue  of  an  agreeable  resoluteness, 
which  won  for  her  from  Goethe  the  nickname  of  “little 
Blücher,”  she  knew  how  to  guide  and  control  every  social 
gathering;  and  by  her  expressive  singing  she  contributed 
a very  refreshing  share  of  the  entertainment.  Since,  after 
the  marriage  of  her  younger  foster-sister,  she  was  Wille- 
mer’s  only  companion  in  the  home  it  was  inevitable  that  her 
f oster-f ather  should  become  her  lo ver  and  soon  after  (1814) 
her  husband. 

When  Goethe  arrived  in  Frankfort  in  September  she 
was  not  yet  married.  He  met  her,  not  in  the  city  itself, 
but  out  at  the  Gerbermühle,  Willemer’s  charming  country- 
seat  on  the  upper  Main.  She  seems  to  have  made  a deep 
impression  on  him  at  first  sight.  He  found  in  her  much 
that  recalled  his  former  sweethearts,  Lotte,  Lili,  and  Frau 
von  Stein.  By  her  name,  her  character,  and  to  some 
extent  by  her  life  history,  she  reminded  him  also  of  two  of 
the  characters  in  his  writings  of  which  he  was  most  fond, 
the  Mariannes  of  Die  Geschwister  and  Wilhelm  Meister,  and, 
to  a less  degree,  of  Mignon  and  the  bayadere.  Doubtless 
the  sight  of  her  often  caused  him  to  lose  himself  in  medita- 


fIDarianne  von  Millemet 


13 


tion  and  in  secret  wonderment  at  the  retum  of  those  van- 
ished  figures.  And  how  could  her  soul  have  remained  un- 
affected  by  his  presence?  Willemer’s  oldest  daughter,  the 
widow  Rosette  Städel,  wrote  in  her  diary  after  her  first 
meeting  with  Goethe:  “ He  is  a man  whom  one  cannot  help 
loving  like  a child  and  to  whom  one  would  gladly  intrust 
one ’s  seif  entirely.”  Do  we  not  hear  the  same  confession 
in  a poem  which  Marianne  sent  to  Goethe  in  Weimar,  “ If 
one  sees  thee  one  must  love  thee”  ? 

Thus  when  Goethe  came  from  Heidelberg  he  entered 
the  Willemer  house  as  a lover  and  one  beloved.  Meanwhile 
the  expected  change  in  Marianne’s  position  had  taken 
place.  On  the  27th  of  September  she  had  become  Willemer’s 
wife,  but  remained,  as  Goethe  diplomatically  expressed 
himself  to  Christiane,  “as  friendly  and  kind  as  before,” 
which  means,  when  translated  into  clearer  language:  she 
gave  him  the  same  love  as  before  her  marriage,  and  this 
fact  made  him  uncommonly  happy.  After  having  visited 
her  on  the  i2th  of  October,  the  next  day  after  his  arrival, 
he  was  there  again  on  the  14Ü1  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
day.  “We  were  very  merry  and  remained  a long  time 
together,  so  that  I have  no  further  events  to  record  of  this 
day”  (letter  to  Christiane,  October  i6th).  On  the  evening 
of  the  i8th  they  all  went  together  up  to  Willemer’s  tower 
on  the  Mühlberg  to  watch  the  bonfires  wdiich  were  every- 
where  kindled  in  commemoration  of  the  first  anniversary 
of  the  battle  of  Leipsic.  This  evening  must  also  have  had 
its  special  charms,  as  Goethe  often  recalled  it  in  later  years. 
On  the  following  day  they  were  together  again,  and  on  the 
next  moming,  the  last  that  Goethe  spent  in  Frankfort, 
he  paid  his  farewell  visit.*  In  the  aftemoon  he  retumed 
to  “the  northem  cloud-veiled  clime. ” The  premonition, 
“ Love’s  joys  await  thee,  ” which  had  come  over  his  spirit 
as  he  set  out  from  Weimar,  had  come  true. 

Düring  the  winter  Goethe’s  dearest  thought  was  that 
of  visiting  again  the  following  summer  these  glorious  regions 

* The  passage  in  Tb.,  v.,  135,  “Visited  Marianne  R.,”  I interpret  a 
meaning  Marianne  Rosette  Städel. 


tTbe  Xi fe  of  (Boetbe 


H 

of  the  Rhine  and  the  Main  and  the  many  dear  friends  who 
inhabited  them,  and  who  had  cried  out  to  him,  “Come 
back!  Come  back!”  Marianne  sang  to  him: 

3u  bcn  flehten  gäl)l’  id)  mid), 

,,  Siebe  f leine  " nennft  bn  mid). 

SBidft  bu  immer  mid)  |o  beiden, 

2Berb’  id)  ftetö  mid)  glitcflid)  preifen.* 

In  her  his  West-östlicher  Divan  had  for  the  first  timegained 
a love-nucleus,  from  which  it  grew  vigorously  in  all  direc- 
tions.  Marianne  became  the  Suleika  whom  he  had  sought, 
and,  rejecting  the  “little  dear”  as  too  “little”  for  his 
poetry  and  too  German  for  the  Orient,  he  answered: 

bn,  bie  fo  lange  mir  erharrt  mar, 
geurige  Sugenbblicfe  mir  fdjicfft, 

3e^t  mid)  licbft,  mid)  [pater  beglüefft, 

®ab  [ollen  meine  Sieber  preifen, 

©oll ft  mir  emig  ©uleifa  ^ei^en.f 

For  her  he  himself  assumes  the  name  Hatem,  the  one  who 
gives  and  receives  most  bountifully,  for  as  a lover  he  desires 
to  give  and  receive. 

While  Goethe  was  making  his  plans  for  a beautiful  Sum- 
mer Timur  (Napoleon)  suddenly  rose  again  and  seemed 
to  dash  them  to  pieces.  For,  even  if  the  war  should  be 
kept  within  French  territory,  it  was  certain  to  drive  away 
his  mood  and  to  bring  swarms  of  troops  to  the  Rhine. 
Hence  Goethe  began  to  be  undecided  in  his  mind  as  to 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  for  him  to  retum  to  the 
baths  of  Bohemia,  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  visit. 

* I belong  among  the  small, 

Me  thou  “little  dear”  dost  call. 

If  this  title  ne’er  forsake  me, 

It  will  ever  happy  make  me. 
f That  thou,  whom  I have  so  long  awaited, 

Me  with  thine  eyes’  youthful  fire  dost  bless, 

Lovest  me  now,  wilt  later  caress, — 

This  shall  my  numbers  proudly  proclaim, 

Thee  shall  I ever  Suleika  name. 


flDarianne  von  ‘MUlemer 


15 


Finally,  however,  the  hope  that  a friendly  spirit  would  come 
to  the  aid  of  the  lovers  gained  the  victory,  and  he  set  out 
on  another  pilgrimage  to  the  Rhine.  His  faith  in  the  god 
of  love  did  not  deceive  him.  Düring  his  sojoum  at  Wies- 
baden, which  extended  from  the  end  of  May  tili  past  the 
middle  of  July,  the  storm  of  war  spent  its  rage,  and  he  was 
able  to  enjoy  the  rest  of  the  summer  on  the  Rhine  under 
a perfectly  serene  political  sky. 

At  the  beginning  of  July  Goethe  had  met  Minister  vom 
Stein  at  the  court  table  of  Nassau,  and  had  received  from 
him  an  invitation  to  visit  him  at  Nassau  Castle,  his  ances- 
tral  seat.  As  Goethe  wished  to  study  more  thoroughly 
the  geological  relations  of  the  Taunus  Mountains,  and 
later  to  go  to  Cologne,  this  seemed  to  fit  into  his  plans  very 
well.  So  he  spent  from  the  2 ist  to  the  23h  of  July  in  Cross- 
ing the  mountain  ränge  and  arrived  at  Nassau  Castle  on  the 
2 4th.  When  Stein  heard  that  Cologne  was  Goethe’s  ul- 
timate  goal  he  decided  immediately  to  accompany  him 
on  the  joumey.  The  two  travelled  down  the  Rhine,  partly 
by  carriage,  partly  by  boat,  and,  as  we  know  from  Arndt, 
each  found  the  other  an  exceedingly  agreeable  companion. 
Cross-grained,  fiery  Stein  was  more  gentle  and  mild  than 
anybody  had  ever  before  seen  him.  What  a contrast  with 
1774,  when  the  child  of  the  world  followed  the  same  route 
with  the  two  prophets,  and  what  a greater  one  still  with 
1792,  when,  all  alone,  in  a leaky  boat,  and  very  early  in  the 
morning,  he  had  rowed  indifferently  past  Cologne  and  its 
cathedral ! 

This  time  he  came  expressly  on  account  of  the  cathedral, 
to  examine  with  his  own  eyes  what  Boisseree’s  drawings 
had  disclosed  to  him,  and  to  see  if  he  could  do  anything 
to  aid  in  the  completion  of  the  structure.  He  studied  it 
very  carefully  outside  and  inside,  from  the  top  and  from 
the  base,  and  formed  a high  opinion  of  it.  He  gave  an 
account  of  his  observations  in  his  Reise  am  Rhein , Main 
und  Neckar.  It  is  to  be  noted,  however,  that  the  strong 
accents  in  which  he  here  speaks  of  the  cathedral  as  a won- 
derful  work,  designed  with  equal  genius  and  understanding, 


i6 


£be  Xi fe  of  ßoetbe 


and  executed  with  perfect  art  and  workmanship,  are  chosen 
essentially  with  reference  to  his  ulterior  purpose  of  agitating 
for  the  completion  of  the  cathedral. 

Apart  from  the  cathedral,  his  eyes  were  open  to  the 
mediaeval  paintings,  to  which  he  had  paid  no  attention 
in  1774,  and  the  picture  of  the  Jabach  family  by  Lebrun 
was  again  warmly  praised,  although  he  was  scarcely  able 
to  recall  the  extravagant  enthusiasm  with  which  it  had  in- 
spired  him  forty  years  before. 

After  a two  days’  sojoum  Goethe  and  Stein  set  out  on 
the  retum  joumey,  making  short  stays  in  Bonn,  Neuwied, 
and  Coblenz.  They  were  favoured  with  good  weather  and 
Goethe  viewed  the  wonderful  landscape  with  great  delight. 
He  may  have  feit  the  beauty  of  nature  more  keenly  than  in 
his  youth,  for  his  companion  got  the  impression  that  the 
Rhine  and  the  Main  were  not  only  Goethe’s  birthplace 
but  also  his  real  home.  The  feeling  led  Stein  during  the 
following  winter  to  join  Antonie  Brentano  in  the  plans  which 
she  was  spinning  to  transplant  him  thither  for  the  rest  of 
his  life.  In  Coblenz  Goethe  met  Görres,  who  at  that  time 
was  the  Champion  of  romantic  democracy,  but  not  yet  of 
German  ultramontanism.  It  was  through  the  medium  of 
his  organ,  Rheinischer  Merkur , that  Stein  brought  his  con- 
stitutional  plans  before  the  public. 

Stein  invited  Goethe  to  Nassau  Castle  again  for  several 
days.  It  is  a pity  that  the  poet  gave  no  good  account  of 
this  visit  either  in  letters  or  anywhere  eise.  Judging  by 
the  scanty  notes  in  his  diary,  it  must  have  been  very  ani- 
mated  and  unique.  Many  men  of  prominent  position  and 
distinguished  ability  came  to  the  castle,  among  others 
Eichhorn  and  Motz,  both  later  Prussian  ministers  and  joint 
founders  of  the  Zollverein.  In  a certain  sense  it  was  a 
congress  of  the  chief  representatives  of  German  constitu- 
tional  unity.  What  attitude  Goethe,  with  his  political 
pessimism,  assumed  toward  them  is  hard  to  say.  There 
seem  to  have  been  conflicts  with  Stein  in  which  the  sparks 
flew,  in  spite  of  the  moderation  which  the  statesman  took 
pains  to  observe.  In  a passage  in  Goethe’s  diary  we  read, 


flßarianne  vonMlUemer 


17 


after  the  words,  “In  the  garden  with  Herr  vom  Stein  and 
the  ladies,”  the  unusual  remark,  which  teils  a great  deal 
more  than  it  says,  “Talking  and  contradicting.”  It  did 
not  diminish  their  friendship,  however,  for  the  two  great 
men  had  leamed  to  understand  each  other. 

Retuming  to  Wiesbaden  on  the  3 ist  of  July,  Goethe 
remained  there  tili  the  ioth  of  August,  then  spent  a day 
viewing  the  Roman  antiquities  in  Mainz,  and  finally,  on  the 
1 2th  of  August,  in  Company  with  his  dear  friend  Boisseree, 
who  had  joined  him  during  the  last  week  in  Wiesbaden, 
tumed  to  Frankfort,  or  let  us  say,  rather,  to  the  Gerber- 
mühle. This  time  he  came  as  the  guest  of  the  Willemers, 
which  is  an  indication  how  intimate  the  relation  was  into 
which  he  had  entered  with  them  the  previous  year.  He 
doubtless  accepted  their  friendly  invitation  without  hesita- 
tion.  He  feit  himself  firm  in  his  resignation  and  expected 
the  same  firmness  on  the  part  of  Marianne.  Assuming 
that  such  was  the  case,  why  should  they  not  enjoy  the 
charm  and  the  exaltation  of  soul  which  arises  from  the  har- 
monious  intercourse  of  great  kindred  spirits  ? 

Those  were  delightful  days,  matchless  weeks,  that  Goethe 
spent  out  there  in  the  rural  quiet  along  the  broad  Main, 
which  glowed  with  beautiful  colours  in  the  evening  sunshine. 
Just  forty  years  before,  very  near  this  spot,  but  a little 
farther  down  the  stream,  he  had  lingered  by  Lili’s  side  in 
the  gardens  and  terraces  of  the  Bemards  and  the  d’Orvilles. 
He  was  now  almost  a greybeard,  and  yet  he  was  happier 
than  he  had  been  then;  he  was  no  longer  one  moment  in 
heaven  and  the  next  in  hell;  an  undisturbed  serenity  had 
filled  his  soul  and  secured  for  him  the  full  enjoyment  of 
the  rarest  happiness. 

He  surveyed  the  intervening  years  with  profound  sat- 
isfaction.  Forty  years  before,  in  the  midst  of  his  sorrows, 
he  had  taken  a vow  that  his  inmost  being  should  for  ever 
be  devoted  to  sacred  love,  because  he  hoped  more  and  more 
through  the  spirit  of  purity,  which  is  sacred  love,  to  re- 
fine  the  dross  out  of  his  soul.  This  hope  had  been  realised. 
And  with  this  spirit  of  purity  he  embraced  the  new  love 


VOL.  III. 2 


i8 


Gbe  Xife  of  Goetbe 


and  sought  through  it  to  rise  to  higher  purifi cation.  The 
love  of  a noble  woman  was  to  him  a symbol  of  the  love  of 
God.  In  this  lofty  conception  of  love  he  had  something 
in  common  with  the  Oriental  and  Occidental  mystics.  It 
was  because  of  it  that  he  said  of  the  Book  of  Suleika:  “ The 
veil  of  earthly  love  seems  to  infold  higher  relations.” 

There  is  no  good  ground  for  supposing  that  Marianne 
was  not  animated  by  the  same  spirit,  and  her  husband 
must  have  been  in  sympathy  with  both  of  them.  He 
knew  very  well  that  the  fiery  kisses  and  embraces  which 
the  two  exchanged  in  their  love-songs  existed  only  in 
fancy,  and  that  in  reality  the  emotional  basis  of  the  poems 
was  nothing  more  than  innocent  delight  in  each  other’s 
Company.  Willemer  had  reason  to  be  proud  that  his 
wife  aroused  such  feelings  in  Goethe’s  breast.  And  how 
could  he  blame  her  if  she  feit  so  toward  the  poet?  Were 
they  not  all,  men  and  women,  old  and  young,  in  love  with 
the  great,  good  man  ? Did  not  he  himself  love  him  ? Hence 
not  only  did  he  not  look  askance  on  the  intercourse  of  the 
two,  in  many  ways  he  encouraged  it.  It  required  an  ex- 
ceptionally  noble  soul  to  do  such  a thing,  and  Goethe 
recognised  this  with  feeling  and  admiration.  After  a visit 
from  Willemer  in  Weimar  he  wrote  to  Marianne:  “The 
sight  of  his  true  nature  brought  vividly  to  my  mind  all 
the  Privileges  which  he  so  willingly  and  nobly  grants 

US.” 

While  the  locality  may  have  conjured  up  Lili’s  image, 
the  peculiarity  of  this  love  reminded  Goethe  of  Lotte. 

He  had  come  to  the  Gerbermühle  for  a visit  of  about  a 
week,  but  life  was  so  engaging  there  that  he  was  unable 
to  depart  after  so  short  a stay.  The  airy  balcony,  the 
shady  garden,  the  neighbouring  forest,  the  outlooks  upon 
water  and  mountains,  the  most  generous  and  most  informal 
hospitality,  and,  above  all,  the  amiable  society,  forced 
him  again  and  again  to  postpone  his  departure.  Especially 
beautiful  were  the  evenings  when  there  was  a gentle? 
spicy  breeze  blowing  through  the  house  and  garden  and 
when  Goethe  read  aloud  and  Marianne  sang.  Whether 


flDarianne  von  THMllemer 


consciously  or  not,  she  always  chose  songs  that  were  rieh  in 
allusions,  such  as  Mignon  (Sehnsuchtslied),  Füllest  wieder 
Busch  und  Tal,  and  the  bailad  Der  Gott  und  die  Bajadere. 
The  first  time  she  sang  this  bailad  Goethe  wished  she 
might  never  sing  it  again.  His  inmost  being  was  stirred 
at  the  thought  that  her  own  life’s  history  had  come  so  near 
being  identical  with  the  story  of  the  poem.  She,  on  the 
other  hand,  may  in  her  innocence  have  interpreted  the  poem 
to  mean  that  her  soul  was  bome  aloft  by  Mahadeva 
(Goethe)  from  the  earthly  depths  in  which  it  had  lain  to 
the  heavenly  heights  above.  This  may  account  for  the 
amount  of  expression  which  she  put  into  the  singing  of  this 
particular  song,  of  which  Goethe  months  afterward  spoke 
to  Zelter  with  great  enthusiasm. 

Five  weeks  of  this  mildly  passionate,  enchanted  existence 
had  passed  by  before  Goethe  was  aware,  and  he  was  now 
forced  to  think  of  parting.  It  was  not,  however,  to  be 
the  final  Separation.  He  wished  to  go  to  Heidelberg  for 
a time  in  Order  to  make  a more  thorough  study  of  Boisseree’s 
collection  of  paintings,  and  planned  to  pass  through 
Frankfort  again  on  his  homeward  way.  Nevertheless 
it  was  a Separation,  the  end  of  a glorious  state,  of  which 
he  was  not  certain  whether  it  would  ever  be  realised  again. 
The  previous  winter  words  had  risen  to  song  at  the  moment 
of  parting;  now  the  exaltation  came  with  the  approach 
of  the  time  of  Separation.  On  the  i2th  of  September 
began  the  long  series  of  individual  songs  and  amoebean 
verses  which  the  lovers  exchanged  with  one  another. 
Goethe  composed  the  clever,  impassioned  song  about  the 
thief  “ Opportunity,”  who  had  stolen  from  him  his  last 
remnant  of  love,  to  which  Marianne  replied,  with  roguish 
ardour,  that,  being  herseif  greatly  rejoiced  by  his  love, 
she  would  not  scold  “ Opportunity.”  On  the  evening  of  the 
i7th,  the  last  that  Goethe  was  to  spend  at  the  Gerbermühle, 
the  song  of  love  swelled  to  more  solemn  tones.  Suleika 
had  dreamed  that  a ring  which  Hatem  had  given  her  had 
fallen  into  the  Euphrates.  “ What  doth  this  dream  signify  ? ’ ’ 
she  asked  Hatem. 


20 


Gfoe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


Die$  gu  beuten  bin  erbötig! 

$ab’  idj  bir  nid)t  oft  ergabt, 

2Bie  ber  Doge  non  SSenebig, 

9J?it  bem  Sfteere  ft  et)  Dermalst  ? . . . 

W\i)  oermäf)lft  bu  beinern  gluffe, 

Der  Derraffe,  biefern  §ain, 

§ier  foll  bi$  gum  lebten  Äuffe 
Dir  mein  ©eift  getuibmet  fein.* 

The  beautiful  moonlight  held  them  together  tili  late 
in  the  night,  and  the  poet  read  aloud  songs  to  Suleika, 
which  added  still  more  fervour  to  their  feelings.  The  fol- 
lowing  day  the  little  wife  begged  him  urgently  to  leave. 
The  ardency  had  grown  too  intense  for  her  in  Goethe’s 
presence.  At  a distance  they  could  allow  each  other 
harmless  liberties.  For  this  purpose  they  had  invented 
the  charming  new  plan  of  communicating  their  sentiments 
to  each  other  by  means  of  references  to  pages  and  verses 
in  Hammer’s  translation  of  Hafiz.  As  they  wrote  nothing 
but  numerals  they  had  the  courage  to  express  themselves 
even  more  freely  than  they  had  done  in  their  songs.  On 
the  2 ist  Goethe  received  such  a letter  in  cipher,  to  which 
he  answered  the  same  day  with  two  songs,  one  of  which, 
a most  sublime  hymn  in  unrhymed  vers  irreguliers,  is  a 
veritable  torrent  of  emotions  and  images. 

A few  of  the  verses  run : 

SBenn  bu,  ©uleifa, 

fÖiid)  übcrfdjtDenglid)  beglücfft, 

Deine  Seibenfdjaft  mir  gutoirfft, 

211$  roär'8  ein  2M  . . . 

Da$  ift  ein  21ugenblidf!  — — 

* This  I can  interpret  clearly. 

Have  I not  recounted  thee 
How  the  Doge  of  Venice  yearly 
With  a ring  doth  wed  the  sea  ? 

Me  dost  thou  to  thy  river  marry, 

To  thy  terrace,  to  this  grove; 

Near  thee  shall  my  spirit  tarry 
Till  the  parting  kiss  of  love. 


flDarianrte  von  Millemev 


21 


$ier  nun  bagegen 
®id)trifcbe  perlen, 

®ie  mir  beiner  Seibenfdjaft 
©eroaltige  öranbung 
Sßarf  an  beg  ßebeng 
S^eröbeten  ©tranb  aug.* 

Every  day  now  brought  new  songs.  “From  Suleika 
to  Suleika  is  my  coming  and  my  going.”  Their  feelings 
were  fanned  to  a new  glow  by  the  surprise  of  meeting  again. 
On  the  2$d  Willemer  and  Marianne  came  to  Heidelberg. 
On  the  way  Marianne  had  quieted  her  heart’s  beating  for 
her  friend  by  the  most  beautiful  stanzas  that  ever  flowed 
from  the  pen  of  a German  poetess : 

SBag  bebeutet  bie  Söetuegung? 

Springt  ber  Oftroinb  fro^e  $unbe? 

©einer  ©cbroingen  frifdje  Regung 
Äü^It  beg  ^erjeng  tiefe  Söunbe. 

Äofenb  fpielt  er  mit  bem  ©taube, 

Sagt  ibn  auf  in  leisten  Sßöifd^en, 
treibt  gur  fiebern  0flebenIaube 
®er  Snfeften  fro^eö  Slölfcben. 

fiinbert  fanft  ber  ©onne  ©lüben, 

Äübit  auch  mir  bie  beifsen  SBanget^ 

Äüfit  bie  Dieben  noch  im  glieben, 

®ie  auf  gelb  unb  $ügel  prangen. 

Unb  mich  foH  fein  leifeg  glüftern 
$on  bem  greunbe  lieblich  grüfen; 

* When  thou,  Suleika, 

Makest  me  boundlessly  glad, 

Dost  toss  to  me  thy  passion, 

As  ’t  were  a ball.  . . 

Oh,  what  a moment! 

Here  now  return  I 
Pearl-strings  poetic, 

Which  the  surging  billows 
Of  thy  bosom’s  passion 
Tossed  on  the  desolate 
Shore  of  my  life. 


22 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


(51)  nodj  biefe  |>ngel  büftern 
©i|’  id)  (tili  ju  (einen  güfien.* 

The  poet  extended  to  his  Suleika  the  enthusiastic 
greeting : 

3(t  e$  möglich!  Stern  ber  ©terne, 

T>rücf  id)  rcieber  bich  anö  §erj! 

Sich,  tuaö  ift  bie  Slacht  ber  gerne 
giir  ein  Stbgrnnb,  (ür  ein  ©djtnerj! 

3a  bn  bi(t  e6 ! meiner  greuben 
©iiper,  lieber  SBiberpart; 

(5ingebenf  nergangner  öeiben 
©chanbr’  id)  öor  ber  ©egenroart.f 

That  evening  the  moon  was  full  and  they  promised  to 
think  of  each  other  at  every  full  moon  thereafter.  The 
following  evening  was  another  evening  of  parting,  and  it 
seems  to  have  passed  like  the  one  on  Lago  Maggiore  de- 
scribed  in  the  Wanderjahre,  “breath  for  breath  and  bliss 

* What  doth  all  this  stir  reveal  ? 

Tidings  glad  the  east  wind  brings? 

In  my  heart’s  hot  wound  I feel 
Coolness  wafting  from  his  wings. 

Fondly  he  the  dust  doth  greet, 

And  in  filmy  cloudlets  chase; 

To  the  vineyard’s  safe  retreat 
Frights  the  merry  insect-race. 

Lenifies  the  sun’s  fierce  glow, 

Rids  my  cheeks  of  burning  pain, 

Kisses,  flying,  vines  that  grow 
Flaunting  over  hill  and  plain. 

And  his  whispers  soft  convey 

From  my  friend  a message  sweet, 

Ere  the  hills  own  night’s  dark  sway 
I shall  nestle  at  his  feet. 

f Do  I truly,  star  of  stars, 

Press  thee  to  my  heart  again? 

How  the  night  of  distance  bars! 

Whatabyss!  What  flood  of  pain! 

Yes,  ’t  is  thou  art  come  at  last, 

Of  my  joys  sweet  fountain  head, 

But  the  thought  of  sorrows  past 
Fills  the  present  hour  with  dread. 


flDarianne  von  Millemer 


23 


for  bliss.”  On  the  moming  of  the  2Öth  the  Willemers  de- 
parted,  and  while  Marianne  composed  out  of  the  depths 
of  her  heart  that  song,  “ West  wind,  for  thy  humid  wings, 
oh,  how  much  I envy  thee!”  which  is  a worthy  companion 
to  her  song  to  the  east  wind,  Goethe  brooded  over  the 
question  whether  he  still  possessed  himself  or  was  lost 
in  Marianne,  shaping  his  doubts  into  the  profound  dialogue 
in  verse  between  Suleika  and  Hatem,  of  which  the  first 
stanzas  spoken  by  Suleika — 

SSolf  unb  Änedjt  unb  Überrotnber, 

Sie  geftebn  ju  jeber  Seit: 

$öd}fteS  ©li'nf  ber  ©rbenfinber 
Sei  nur  bie  Sßerfönltdjfeit. 

SebeS  ßeben  fei  31t  führen, 

Sßenn  man  fidj  nid)t  felbft  bermifit; 

Silles  fönne  man  berlieren, 

Söenn  man  bliebe,  roaS  man  ift  * — 

are  often  taken  as  the  confession  of  his  own  deepest  faith. 
This  interpretation  is  only  half  correct.  True,  it  was  his 
opinion  that  we  can  be  happy  only  when  we  preserve  the 
innermost  kemel,  the  really  valuable  part,  and  hence  that 
which  alone  is  essential,  of  our  personality;  not,  however, 
by  clinging  stubbomly  to  our  personality  and  falling  back 
upon  it,  but  by  giving  it  to  others  and  for  others.  We  enjoy 
ourselves  most  in  others  and  through  them.  Hence  Hatem 
replies  to  Suleika: 

tarnt  !bof)l  fein!  fo  tbirb  gemcinct; 

$od)  idj  bin  auf  anbrer  ©pur: 

SlUeS  ©rbenglikf  bereinet 
ginb’  itf)  in  ©uleifa  nur. 

* Peoples,  slaves,  and  lords  of  earth 
All  this  testimony  bear: 

Personality  of  worth 

Highest  bliss  brings  everywhere. 

He  who  rightly  heeds  life’s  call 
In  the  end  may  guerdon  win; 

He,  in  turn,  may  lose  his  all 

Who  remains  what  he  has  been. 


24 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


Sßie  fie  fid)  an  mid)  oerfdjroenbet, 

SBin  id)  mir  ein  roerteg  Set); 

§ätte  fie  fid)  roeggemenbet, 

Slugenblicfö  berlör’  td)  mid).* 

On  the  following  day  Goethe  took  up  the  theme  once 
more  and  in  a leaf  of  the  gingo  biloba,  which  is  one  and  yet 
divided,  “gave  her  hidden  sense  to  taste  what  the  knowing 
edifies.” 

The  more  ardent  his  passion  grew  under  the  glamour  of 
Marianne’s  love,  as  it  revealed  itself  more  and  more  in 
her  exquisite  poetical  epistles,  the  more  he  feit  the  weight 
of  years  lifted  from  his  shoulders, — a glorious  renewal  of 
youth!  Tobesure,  he  has,  as  he  sings,  nothing  to  compare 
with  the  brown  locks  of  his  beloved — 

91ur  bieö  §erg,  e§  ift  bon  35aner, 

©djroillt  in  jugenblicfjftem  §lor; 

Unter  ©djnce  unb  9ZebeIfd)auer 
9taft  ein  Stetna  bir  fjeroor. 

$>u  befd)ämft  roie  Morgenröte 
Sener  ©ipfet  ernfte  SSanb, 

Unb  nod)  einmal  fühlet  §atem  [©oetlje] 
grüt)[ing§t)uud)  unb  ©ommerbranb.f 

* That  may  be,  for  those  inclined; 

But  I choose  another  course: 

Ev’ry  earthly  bliss  I find 
Has  Suleika  for  its  source. 

Loving  me  so  lavishly 

She  my  worth  to  me  hath  shown; 

Had  she  spurned  me  haughtily, 

I had  straightway  been  undone. 

f Save  this  heart  which,  never  aging, 

Swells  with  wärmest  youthful  glow, 

Like  the  fire  of  AStna  raging 

Neath  its  veil  of  mist  and  snow. 

Yonder  summit’s  solemn  splendour 
Thou  like  rosy  dawn  dost  shame, 

And  in  Hatem’s  breast  engender 

Spring’s  sweet  breath  and  summer’s  flame. 


HDarlanne  von  Millemer 


25 


Otherwise  the  sojoum  in  Heidelberg  was  characterised 
by  the  same  associations  and  the  same  occupations  as  that 
of  the  preceding  year,  except  that,  in  addition  to  the 
Willemers,  Goethe  received  a two  days’  visit  from  the  Duke, 
who  had  been  for  a long  time  in  the  valley  of  the  Rhine. 
At  the  request  of  his  prince  Goethe  was  obliged  to  ex- 
tend  his  joumey  to  Karlsruhe,  in  order  to  view  Gmelin’s 
cabinet  of  minerals  and  the  specimens  selected  for  the 
Duke.  He  planned  to  join  the  Duke  later  in  Frankfort. 

Goethe  spent  only  two  days  in  Karlsruhe.  He  derived  no 
pleasure  from  a visit  with  his  old  friend  Jung-Stilling,  who 
resided  there.  Jung-Stilling  had  grown  rigid  in  spiritless 
piety,  and  his  manner  of  life  had  made  him  vain.  The 
two  friends,  between  whom  there  had  once  existed  such 
cordial  ties,  had  lost  all  sympathy  with  each  other.  Goethe 
was  much  more  favourably  impressed  with  Hebel,  for 
whose  Alemannische  Gedichte  he  had  long  cherished  a 
fondness. 

His  sojoum  in  Karlsruhe  would  have  brought  the 
keenest  delight  if  he  had  met  Lili  there,  as  he  had  hoped. 
She  doubtless  often  came  thither  from  Alsatia  to  visit  her 
relatives.  Through  the  Gerbermühle,  and  later  through 
Heidelberg,  the  memory  of  her  had  become  extraordinarily 
fresh  in  his  mind,  and  on  the  way  to  Karlsruhe  he  had  told 
Boisseree  all  the  details  of  his  betrothal  with  her,  of  which 
he  had  hitherto  said  very  little  and  to  few  people.  But 
in  his  expectation  to  find  her  in  Karlsruhe  he  was  dis- 
appointed.  In  fact  he  was  never  again  to  see  the  betrothed 
of  his  youth.  On  the  6th  of  May,  1817,  she  died  in  Alsatia, 
in  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  highest  esteem  of  her  husband 
and  children,  and  of  the  friends  and  acquaintance  of  the 
family.  “The  etemal  Father,”  wrote  her  husband  to  her 
brother,  “who,  in  his  mercy,  gave  me  this  beautiful  spirit 
for  my  companion  and  through  her  caused  so  great  a blessing 
to  descend  upon  me,  has  summoned  fair  Lili  hence.” 

We  wonder  whether  Goethe,  while  in  Karlsruhe,  may 
not  have  thought  of  another  loved  one  of  his  youth — 
Friederike,  whose  home  beyond  the  Rhine  was  not  very 


26 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


far  away.  If  he  had  sought  to  find  her  he  would  have 
been  obliged  to  make  a pilgrimage  to  a grave.  And  this 
grave  was  very  near,  in  Baden,  in  German  soil.  After 
many  hard  experiences  in  the  home  of  her  brother-in-law, 
Parson  Marx,  she  had  found  a place  of  refuge,  first  in 
Diersburg,  then  in  Meisenheim  (between  Lahr  and  Offen- 
burg), where  she  died  on  the  3d  of  April,  1813.  Throughout 
her  life  she  had  enjoyed  the  love  and  respect  of  all  who 
knew  her. 

Through  these  memories  many  things  had  been  re- 
freshed  in  Goethe’s  mind,  and  his  conversation  on  the  re- 
tum  joumey  touched  only  upon  his  experiences  in  the 
past.  Among  those  remembered  was  Minna,  the  original 
of  Ottilie. 

On  the  following  moming  he  declared  to  Boisseree  that 
he  was  not  going  to  Frankfort,  but  wxxild  joumey  home- 
ward  by  way  of  Würzburg,  and  that  he  intended  to  set 
out  at  once.  He  said  that  he  did  not  feel  well.1  He  spoke 
occasionally  of  his  disinclination  to  meet  the  Duke  and 
the  latter’s  mistress,  the  Opera  singer  Karoline  Jagemann. 
It  was  only  with  difficulty  that  his  young  friends  were  able 
to  persuade  him  to  take  one  more  day  of  rest.  Then  he 
parted  from  Heidelberg — “a  sad,  hard  farewell.”  Sulpiz 
accompanied  him  to  Würzburg.  The  farther  Goethe 
joumeyed  from  Heidelberg  and  from  the  road  to  Frank- 
fort, the  better  he  feit.  Boisseree  says  it  was  because  he 
gained  in  assurance  that  he  would  not  be  overtaken  by 
the  Duke  and  Karoline  Jagemann.  We  shall  assign  another 
reason  when  we  have  read  the  following  letter  which  he 
sent  Willemer  from  Heidelberg : 

“Dear,  esteemed  Friend:  That  I am  constantly  oc- 
cupied  with  you  and  your  happy  surroundings,  that  I see  the 
groves  which  you  yourself  planted  and  the  lightly  built,  yet 
substantial,  house  more  vividly  than  in  their  presence,  and 
that  I go  over  in  memory  again  and  again  all  the  pleasure, 
consideration,  kindness,  and  love,  which  I enjoyed  by  your 
side,  you  yourself  doubtless  feel,  as  I certainly  cannot  be 
banished  from  those  shady  Spots,  and  must  often  meet  you 


flDarianne  von  TKHUlemer 


2 7 


there.  I have  had  a hundred  fancies  as  to  when,  how, 
and  where  I should  see  you  again,  as  until  yesterday  I had 
the  duty  assigned  me  of  spending  some  charming  days  with 
my  prince  on  the  Rhine  and  the  Main,  perhaps  even  of 
joining  in  that  brilliant  anniversary  celebration  on  the 
Mühlberg.  Now  these  plans  are  upset  and  I am  hastening 
home  via  Würzburg.  My  only  consolation  is  the  fact  that 
without  caprice  and  without  resistance  I am  wandering 
the  prescribed  way  and  hence  may  all  the  more  innocently 
direct  my  longing  toward  those  whom  I leave  behind.” 

He  wished  to  depart  before  there  should  be  any  occasion 
to  regret  anything  he  had  done.  The  shades  of  Lili  and 
Friederike  had  given  him  the  quick,  firm  determination. 
This  is  our  explanation  of  his  sudden  change  between 
evening  and  moming.  On  the  road  he  regained  his  freedom 
more  and  more  and  became  more  and  more  happy.  In 
Meiningen,  where  he  arrived  on  the  ioth  of  October,  he 
was  again  able  to  jest  in  poems  with  the  dear  mistress  of 
the  Gerbermühle.  In  one  of  them  he  makes  the  maidens 
to  whom  Hatem  has  formerly  paid  court  call  Hatem  to 
account  for  remaining  true  to  Suleika  alone,  protesting 
that  they  too  are  pretty.  Hatem  admits  that  they  are 
and  praises  the  particular  beauty  of  each  of  them.  We 
begin  to  divine  their  flattered  expressions  when  suddenly 
he  makes  the  astounding  declaration  that  Suleika  possesses 
all  these  beauties  combined.  When  the  maidens,  as  a last 
resort,  ask  him  whether  Suleika  is  as  powerful  in  song  as 
they  are,  he  answers  haughtily: 

Semit  U)r  folcfjer  Tiefe  ©runb  f 
©elbftgefüf)lte$  ßieb  entqniüet, 

©elbftgebichtcteg  bem  9Jtnnb. 

S5ott  euch  ‘Dichterinnen  allen 
3ft  il)r  eben  feine  gleich  . • .* 

* Do  ye  such  profoundness  know? 

Songs  self-felt  in  her  own  bosom, 

Self-composed  from  her  lips  flow. 

Of  your  number,  poetesses, 

There  is  none  with  her  compares. 


28 


tCbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


With  these  songs,  and  further  numbers  added  in  Weimar, 
he  sought  to  help  himself  and  his  friends  bear  the  sorrow 
of  longing. 

The  new  year  brought  Goethe  a great  bereavement. 
On  the  6th  of  June,  1816,  his  wife  died  after  a period  of 
severe  suffering.  In  her  he  lost  much.  In  hard  days, 
in  times  of  illness  and  distress,  she  had  proved  true  and 
brave,  and  she  had  at  all  times  relieved  him  of  many  of 
the  petty  burdens  of  everyday  life.  Furthermore  she  was 
a life  companion  whose  happy  naturalness  imparted  an 
agreeable  atmosphere  to  his  home,  even  though  she  was 
able  to  show  but  little  appreciation  of  his  higher  spirit- 
ual life.  Sorrow  over  her  loss,  deep  gratitude,  memo, 
ries  of  the  indignities  which  she  had  been  forced  to  endure 
from  the  outer  world  for  his  sake,  together  with  the  natural 
desire  to  show  most  forcibly  to  this  outer  world  what  she 
had  been  to  him,  inspired  the  sentimental  verses  on  the  day 
of  her  death : 


üerfucfjft,  o Sonne,  DcrgebenS, 
iDurcf)  bie  biiftern  Sßolfen  jn  fdjeinen! 

®er  ganje  ©cttrinn  meinet  2eben$ 

3 ft,  ihren  SSerluft  ju  beroeinen.* 

As  the  summer  advanced  the  question  arose  as  to 
what  watering  place  he  should  visit.  So  far  as  the  effect 
was  concemed  it  was  immaterial  whether  he  went  to  Wies- 
baden, Teplitz,  or  some  other  thermal  springs.  Love  for 
the  Rhine  and  for  his  friends  in  that  region,  especially 
Marianne,  attracted  him  strongly  toward  the  west.  But 
dared  he  go  in  that  direction?  Zelter  seemed  to  bring  him 
to  a decision.  Zelter  was  going  to  Wiesbaden  and  ob- 
tained  a promise  from  Goethe  to  accompany  him  thither. 
But  Goethe  soon  changed  his  plan.  He  did  not  wish  to 
traverse  again  the  dangerous  route,  which  would  take  him 

* Thou,  O sun,  dost  labour  in  vain 
The  obscuring  clouds  to  divide; 

My  life’s  one  ineffable  gain 

Is  grief  o’er  her  loss  from  my  side. 


flDarianne  von  Willemer 


29 


through  Frankfort  and  into  the  vicinity  of  his  beloved 
Marianne.  He  clung  to  his  determination  to  go  to  the 
Rhine,  but  changed  the  goal  of  his  joumey  to  Baden-Baden, 
which  he  planned  to  reach  via  Würzburg,  instead  of  via 
Frankfort. 

On  the  2oth  of  July  he  entered  upon  the  joumey  in 
Company  with  Meyer.  Two  hours  after  they  left  Weimar 
the  carriage  was  upset  and  Meyer  received  a wound  in  the 
forehead.  Goethe  took  him  back  to  Weimar  and  gave  up 
the  joumey.  The  accident  seemed  to  him  an  ill  omen. 
In  spite  of  hundreds  of  most  alluring  temptations  from 
within  and  without  he  never  again  visited  the  Rhine,  his 
German  Italy.2  And  as  Marianne  did  not  come  to  Thur- 
ingia  he  never  saw  her  again.  But  he  kept  up  his  tender 
correspondence  with  her  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  his  letters 
were  occasionally  adomed  with  verses  which  surprise  us 
with  their  fervour.  Upon  Marianne’s  songs  he  bestowed 
the  highest  honour  by  including  them  among  his  own  in 
West- östlicher  Divan.  To  ward  the  end  of  1818,  when  he 
sent  her  the  proof  sheets  containing  the  Buch  Suleika, 
she  replied,  “ I was  surprised  and  deeply  affected,  and  wept 
over  the  remembrances  of  a happy  past.” 


THE  LYRIC  POET 


Goethe  the  inspired  poet — The  mystery  of  his  power — His  talent  an  irre- 
sistible  natural  force — Spinozistic  explanation  of  the  poet’s  twofold 
nature — Goethe’s  object  in  writing  poetry — His  poetic  vision  and 
creation — His  normality  and  superiority — Comparison  with  Heine 
— Goethe’s  poems  are  like  painted  window-panes — The  genetic 
method  of  interpreting  them — Harzreise  im  Winter — Various  ways 
in  which  poems  originated — Transformations  through  which  they 
passed — An  den  Mond  and  Der  Fischer — Goethe’s  reasons  for  mak- 
ing  alterations — His  advance  beyond  his  predecessors — Influence  of 
Herder  and  folk-poetry — Subject-matter  of  his  poems  true  and 
genuine — They  refiect  typical  truth — Their  deep  significance  and 
symbolism — Wonne  der  Wehmut — Social  songs — Ballads — Subjects 
from  religious  history — Die  Braut  von  Korinth — Die  erste  Walpur- 
gisnacht— Paria — Der  Gott  und  die  Bajadere — Hochzeitlied — Bal- 
lade vom  vertriebenen  und  zurückkehrenden  Grafen — Symbolic  mean- 
ing  of  these  ballads — Der  getreue  Eckart — Erlkönig — Der  König 
in  Thule — Inwardness  in  Goethe’s  ballads — His  own  experiences 
embodied  in  them — Goethe’s  employment  of  contrast  in  his  poems 
— His  resolution  of  apparent  discords  into  harmonies — His  serenity 
— His  mastery  of  the  art  of  representation — Objectivity — Inclina- 
tion  to  symbolism — Vivid  word-pictures,  especially  of  nature  and 
human  beings — Auf  dem  See — Music  in  his  verse  and  prose,  even  let- 
ters — Sources  of  his  word-music- — Verse  forms  which  he  employed 
— Tones  lacking  in  his  lyre — Place  of  Goethe’s  poetry  in  the  spirit- 
ual life  of  Germany. 

THE  discussion  of  Goethe’s  lyric  poetry  brings  us  to 
the  heart  of  all  his  poetic  activity.  In  the  origin 
and  completion  of  his  songs  he  himself  recognised 
the  best  proof  of  his  poetic  talent.  Early  in  life  it  seemed 
to  him  something  wonderful  and  enigmatic.  The  songs 
sprang  forth  of  themselves,  without  previous  meditation 
or  volition,  at  times  even  against  his  will;  offen  in  finished 
form,  offen  merely  the  beginnings  or  outlines,  but  with  an 


3i 


Gbe  X^ric  fl>oet 

irresistible  impulse  to  finish  them.  Even  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  the  poetic  visions  would  come  to  him  and  would 
vanish  again  as  they  had  come,  if  he  did  not  quickly  hold 
them  fast. 

A subject  might  repose  in  his  soul  for  years  and  decades 
and  then  suddenly  shape  itself  into  a poem.  One  experience 
would  sink  in  the  sand  and  be  lost  for  ever,  while  another, 
perhaps  a less  important  one,  would  spring  forth  as  a song  into 
a new  and  etemal  existence.  His  involuntary  poetic  creation 
went  so  far  that  even  things  which  he  had  not  experienced, 
or  read,  or  wrought  out  in  his  fancy,  suddenly  presented 
themselves  to  him  as  songs.  They  were  inspirations  in 
the  füllest  sense  of  the  word.  Hence  he  was  justified  in 
saying:  “The  songs  made  me,  not  I them,”  “The  songs 

had  me  in  their  power,”  “ It  sang  within  me,”  and  it  would 
have  been  no  meaningless  phrase  if  he  had  applied  to 
himself  the  words  of  his  minstrel,  “ I sing  myself  as  carols 
the  bird.” 

What  kind  of  a mysterious  power  was  this,  of  which 
he  had  become  the  instrument?  Out  of  it  grew,  not  merely 
rhymes  and  rhythms,  but  highly  artistic  structures,  which 
revealed  life  with  the  transparency  of  crystal  and  rocked 
the  poet  on  the  waves  of  harmony. 

Goethe  himself  was  fond  of  studying  this  question,  but, 
with  his  modest  fear  of  appearing  guilty  of  self-deification,  he 
confined  himself  to  describing  his  poetic  power,  instead  of 
pointing  out  its  original  source.  When  he  was  writing  the  last 
part  of  his  biography  he  feit  the  need  of  giving  others  an 
account  of  his  thoughts;  but  again  he  did  not  go  beyond 
certain  fragmentary  indications,  which  are  very  difficult  to 
interpret.  He  gave  a detailed  account  of  how  Spinoza’s 
philosophy  had  taught  him  to  grasp  the  All  as  a necessary 
whole,  how  he  had  received  from  it  peace  and  enlighten- 
ment,  how  it  had  made  him  capable  of  resignation;  and 
then,  to  our  surprise,  added  the  Statement  that  he  had 
brought  all  this  forward  for  the  sole  purpose  of  making 
comprehensible  what  he  was  about  to  say  conceming  his 
poetic  talent.  He  described  this  talent,  however,  only 


32 


Gbe  %\te  of  (Soetbe 


from  the  point  of  view  of  the  compulsion  which  it  exercised, 
obliging  him  to  look  upon  it  as  a force  of  nature.  But  he 
says  that  this  force  of  nature  was  not  always  active,  for 
which  reason  he  considered  it  proper  for  him,  during  the 
pauses,  to  make  use  of  his  other  powers  and  to  devote 
them  to  the  affairs  of  the  world . He  left  it  for  his  readers 
to  find  the  connection  between  this  utterance  and  the 
teachings  of  Spinoza.  Let  us  seek  to  find  it  by  explaining 
Goethe’s  conception  of  the  philosopher. 

Spinoza  sees  in  the  world  an  embodiment  of  God.  But, 
though  all  the  parts  of  this  body  are  necessary  members 
of  the  divine  whole,  they  are  not  equally  permeated  by 
God.  Only  the  fully  divine  are  essential,  etemal,  and 
harmonious;  those  less  divine  are  changeable,  fleeting 
phenomena,  ripplings  of  the  waves  crowding  and  dashing 
against  each  other  at  the  surface  of  the  sea,  which  in  its 
depths  is  not  moved.* 

In  this  picture  of  the  world  Goethe  recognised  his  own 
twofold  nature.  t The  fully  divine,  the  essential,  in  him 
was  the  poet;  the  confused  earthly,  the  accidental,  was  the 
everyday  man,  the  man  of  affairs  and  society.  It  was  for 
this  reason  that  the  world  lay  so  clear  and  harmonious 
before  him,  and  that  such  profound  repose  came  over  him, 
when  he  looked  out  into  the  world  as  a poet,  a part  of  the 
pure  essence  of  God,  with  the  eye  of  God;  it  was  for  this 
same  reason  that  the  world  seemed  so  confused  and  con- 
tradictory  when  he  moved  about  in  it  with  the  blurred 
vision  of  an  ordinary  son  of  earth.  Hence  it  was  that  his 
poetic  talent  asserted  itself  as  a force  which  acted  of  itself 
and  found  its  way  with  sovereign  certainty,  whereas  the 
other  things  which  he  attempted  in  the  world  were  charac- 
terised  by  uncertainty,  doubt,  and  error. 

It  was  for  this  reason  that  he  was  able  to  practise 
resignation  more  easily  than  others.  Resignation  gave  him 
pleasure,  if  not  immediately,  at  least  through  the  after 
effects,  both  in  the  specific  instance  and  in  general.  He 

* The  Earth-Spirit,  in  Faust,  characterises  itself  as  an  “etemal  sea.” 

t Cf.  W.,  xxix.,  9,  8,  and  17,  5;  xxviii.,  311,  6 and  22. 


33 


Zhc  X^rlc  poet 

resigned  only  what  was  ephemeral  and  apparent,  whereas 
he  saved  his  own  peculiar  nature,  his  poetic  genius,  so 
much  the  more  fully.  But  this  resignation  must  not  be 
a renunciation  of  the  worid,  for  as  God  needs  the  world 
in  order  to  perfect  himself,  so  does  the  poet.  It  is  his 
food  and  his  task. 

Seeing  things  in  their  distinctness  and  harmony,  the 
poet  perceives  them  in  their  true  light.  It  was  an  astounding 
new  discovery  that  Goethe  made  in  his  own  soul.  So  soon 
as  an  experience  transformed  itself  in  his  soul  into  a poem, 
it  became  clarified  and  purified,  and  its  real  substance 
appeared  then  in  its  true  relations.  In  the  temporal  he 
saw  the  etemal,  in  the  small  the  great,  in  the  narrow  the 
broad,  in  the  accidental  the  necessary.  In  this  way  that 
which  was  specific  lost  its  empty,  meaningless  isolation. 
He  himself  declared  on  one  occasion  that  “the  lively  poetic 
perception  of  a limited  state  raises  a specific  phenomenon 
to  a circumscribed  and  yet  unlimited  universal,  so  that 
in  the  small  space  we  believe  we  see  the  whole  world.”  The 
specific  instance  became  the  model  of  a thousand  similar 
things  and  cases  and  a Symbol  for  a thousand  analogous 
ones.  It  became  typical  and  symbolical.  Bearing  in 
mind  this  grasping  of  truth  by  means  of  poetic  perception, 
we  can  understand  Goethe’s  confession,  which  at  first 
blush  is  so  perplexing,  and  sounds  so  like  a disciple  of  Gott- 
sched, that  he  wrote  poetry  not  merely  for  the  sake  of 
pacifying  himself,  but  also  for  the  purpose  of  correcting 
his  conceptions  of  things. 

Poetical  enthusiasm,  in  the  original  sense  of  a state 
of  being  filled  with  God,3  fumished  him  with  prophetic 
power,  raised  him  to  a lofty  point  of  Observation,  from 
which  the  labyrinths  of  the  world  lay  before  him  in  perfect 
order.  “ How  could  I behold  the  world  so  clearly  as  now 
when  I have  nothing  further  to  seek  in  it?”  he  once 
wrote.  This  is  supposed  to  be  a token  of  homage  to  Frau 
von  Stein,  but  the  words  might  also  have  been  addressed 
to  the  muse  of  poetry,  who,  as  we  well  know,  appeared 
to  him  in  the  form  of  his  beloved.  Thus  he  receives  the 

VOL.  III. — 3 


34  £be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

veil  of  poetry  from  the  hand  of  truth,  and  says  to 
her: 


3ld),  ba  id)  irrte,  Ejatt’  id)  Diel  ©efptelen; 

®a  id)  bicf)  fettne,  bin  id)  faft  allein.* 

In  the  realm  of  truth  one  is  usually  very  much  alone.  In 
the  “Prelude”  to  Faust  the  poet  requires  the  “longing  for 
truth,”  if  he  is  to  write  poetry.4  This  point  of  view  gives 
us  the  full  meaning  of  the  words,  “The  poems  made  me, 
not  I them.”  By  revealing  to  him  the  truth,  they  developed 
his  higher  being. 

When  with  his  divine  soul  Goethe  sees,  feels,  recognises, 
and  experiences  the  world  as  a poet,  he  expresses  not 
only  himself,  but  also  the  world  in  its  normality,  so  that 
every  man  finds  himself  reflected  in  the  poet ’s  world. 
The  mysterious  peculiarity  which  great  geniuses  possess, 
of  uniting  in  a wonderful  way  marked  spiritual  superiority 
with  normality,  the  extraordinary  with  the  common,  man- 
ifests  itself  in  Goethe  as  in  almost  no  other  man.  High  as 
he  Stands  above  the  average  man,  there  is  something 
thoroughly  normal  about  his  nature.  An  emotion  may 
rise  higher  and  grow  more  ardent  in  his  soul  than  in  the 
soul  of  another  man,  and  yet  this  emotion  is  aroused  only 
in  conditions  in  which  it  is  aroused  in  men  of  smaller  calibre. 
Likewise  his  thoughts  are,  as  a rule,  deeper  than  those 
of  other  men,  but  they  move  in  a direction  which  does  not 
depart  from  the  normal  line.  Hence,  as  a matter  of  course, 
he  experiences  only  what  any  normal  man  experiences  or 
might  experience.  This  normality  of  the  man  is  not 
lessened  by  the  poet;  it  is  increased,  rather,  both  by  the 
selection  and  the  purification  of  the  features  of  the  experience 
or  the  picture  which  he  portrays,  and  by  the  moderation 

of  the  expression  of  them.  This  is  especially  important 

in  the  expression  of  his  passion;  for,  although  we  know 

that  his  passion  is  aroused  only  by  a normal  occasion, 

nevertheless  it  rises  to  such  a height  that  it  might  become 

* Alas!  while  erring  I had  comrades  many; 

Since  thee  I ’ve  known  I ’ve  lost  them  almost  all. 


35 


Gbe  %yv\ c fl>oet 

somewhat  abnormal  because  of  its  intensity.  At  this 
point,  however,  the  muse  steps  in  and  with  her  heavenly 
hand  “ calms  every  wave  of  life.” 

The  contrary  is  true  of  many  other  poets,  especially 
of  “ demi-geniuses.”  There  is  something  about  them  that 
is  eccentric,  awry,  unwholesome,  and  extreme.  Because 
of  this  temperament  they  either  experience  or  fancy  things 
which  are  not  likely  to  happen  to  other  mortals,  or  eise 
they  accompany  their  experiences  and  fancies  with  emotions 
and  thoughts  such  as  very  rarely,  if  ever,  occur  to  others. 
The  act  of  writing  poetry  does  not  exercise  a pacifying 
influence  on  them;  it  inflames  them,  rather,  so  that  even 
normal  subjects,  thoughts,  and  feelings  are  expressed  by 
them  in  a way  indicating  an  overheated  imagination.  In 
order  to  gain  a clear  consciousness  of  this  let  us  take  a 
single  example.  Heine’s  love  passion  was  certainly  never 
greater,  and  was  hardly  ever  as  great  as  Goethe’s.  And 
yet  the  expression  of  his  passion  surpassed  anything  that 
Goethe’s  love-fire  inspired  him  to  sing.  Take  for  example 
these  lines : 

$lu§  9tortocg$  äßälbern 
9ki}3’  id)  bie  bödjfte  £anne, 

Unb  taudje  fie  ein 

3n  be$  ttnag  glii^enben  §d)lunb,  unb  mit  folc^er 

geucrgctrönften  9tiefenfeber 

©djreib'  id)  an  bie  bttnfle  §immel$bedfe: 

,,51gne§,  id)  liebe  bid)!" 

Sebroebe  91ad)t  lobert  alöbann 
®ort  oben  bie  einige  gtammenfdjrift, 

Unb  alle  nad)iuad)fenben  @nfelgefd)led)ter 
fiefen  jaud^enb  bie  ^immelömorte: 

,,  StgneS,  id)  liebe  bicb!".* 

* From  Norway’s  forests 
I snatch  their  tallest  pine  tree 
And  plunge  it  deep 
Into  the  glowing  crater  of  JE tna, 

And  with  this  gigantic,  fire-filled  pen 
I write  on  the  dark  dome  of  heaven : 

“Agnes,  I love  thee!” 

And  then  each  night  the  sky  will  blaze 


36 


Zbe  Xi fe  of  Goetbe 


Such  poems,  with  their  half-true,  cleverly  exaggerated 
thoughts,  and  their  beautiful  violence  of  expression,  may 
excite  our  admiration,  they  may  delight  us  and  hold  our 
attention,  but  our  deepest  inner  seif  is  not  wedded  to  them, 
and  they  do  not  become  active  factors  in  our  soul-life, 
emerging  at  the  proper  moment  with  their  grateful  in- 
fluence  to  enlighten,  or  to  confirm  and  strengthen,  our 
own  being.  They  never  give  us  that  feeling  which  we  all 
have,  and  which  Felix  Mendelssohn  once  expressed,  when 
he  said  that  it  had  often  seemed  to  him  as  though  the  same 
thing  must  have  occurred  to  himself  under  similar  circum- 
stances,  and  that  Goethe  had  merely  chanced  to  say  it. 
How  far  this  general  human  character  and  this  beneficent 
effect  extends,  every  one  can  give  abundant  testimony  from 
his  own  experience.  However,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place 
to  eite  here  a remarkable  example — the  verses  which  the 
poet  addressed  to  Heaven  from  the  slope  of  the  Ettersberg 
on  the  i2th  of  February,  1776 — 

®er  bu  tum  bem  §immel  bift, 

2IUe$  2eib  unb  Scbmerjen  ftiHeft, 

‘©en,  ber  hoppelt  elenb  ift, 
doppelt  mit  ßtquicFung  fiiHeft, 

3Id),  id)  bin  be8  Treibens  mübel 
22a§  foH  all  ber  ©djmerg  unb  2uft? 

@über  griebe, 

Äomm,  ach  lomrn  in  meine  Söruft  1* * 

had  their  most  special  occasion,  and  yet  Pestalozzi  makes 
a Swiss  peasant  woman  sing  them  with  her  children  at 
evening  prayers,  and  they  suit  the  Situation  so  excellently 
that  one  cannot  read  them  there  without  being  affected. 

This  general  human  character  would  stand  out  more 
vividly  and  oftener  if  Goethe  had  not  had  the  habit  of  keep- 
ing  close  to  personal  experience  in  his  poems.  With  him 

With  the  etemal  flaming  legend, 

And  all  coming  generations  of  men 
Will  joyfully  read  the  heavenly  words: 

“Agnes,  I love  thee!” 

* The  original  form  in  which  Goethe  sent  this  poem  to  Frau  von  Stein 
is  quoted  on  p.  287  f.  of  vol.  i.,  where  a translation  is  given. — C. 


37 


Zbe  X^ric  poet 

this  habit  was  a necessity,  as  we  already  know.  In  the 
epic  and  the  drama,  where  the  author  must  represent  an 
experience  in  a picture  that  is  consistent  in  itself,  where, 
that  is,  he  must  sever  his  personal  connection  with  it, 
this  method  of  procedure  has  its  advantages.  It  is  different 
with  lyric  poetry,  where  the  experience  passes  directly  into 
the  poem,  without  being  transformed  into  a picture.  In 
addition  to  the  distinct  advantages  arising  therefrom, 
which  we  shall  discuss  later,  there  is  a disadvantage  which 
not  infrequently  makes  itself  feit.  Poems  bom  of  a par- 
ticular  Situation  are  permeated  with  such  specifically  per- 
sonal, local,  and  Contemporary  allusions,  that  they  are 
obscure  to  the  uninformed  reader.  This  fault  was  found, 
even  while  Goethe  was  still  alive,  and  so  he  took  up  his 
pen  in  his  own  defence  and  wrote: 

©ebicfjte  fittb  gemalte  genfterfd) eiben  ! 

©iel)t  man  öom  Warft  in  bie  tird)e  Ijinera, 

35a  ift  alles  bnnfel  unb  büfter; 
«•••••• 

Äommt  aber  nur  einmal  herein! 

Söegriifit  bie  heilige  Äapeüel 
®a  ift’ö  auf  einmal  farbig  IjeHe, 

©efcf)icf)t’  unb  Bierrat  glänjt  in  ©cfmeHe, 

SBebeutenb  mirft  ein  ebler  ©cljein.  . . .* 

That  is  the  secret.  We  must  work  our  way  into  the 
interior  of  Goethe’s  poems  and  view  them  from  within, 
must  seek  to  discover  their  process  of  crystallisation  und  er 
the  combined  influence  of  experience  in  life  and  philosophy 
of  the  world,  if  they  are  to  reveal  themselves  to  us  in  their 
full  blaze  of  splendour.  This  is  true  even  of  those  which 
seem  clear  and  transparent  the  first  time  we  meet  them. 

* The  poet’s  lines  are  painted  window-panes. 

If  into  the  church  from  the  market  we  look, 

All  within  is  dark  and  obscure; 

But  when  we  once  within  repair 
To  see  the  chapel’s  sacred  light, 

A colour-splendour  greets  the  sight, 

The  words  and  Ornaments  grow  bright, 

And  we  the  poet’s  rapture  share. 


38 


Zbe  %ifc  of  (Boetbe 


They,  too,  have  their  hidden  special  roots,  the  laying  bare 
of  which  will  enhance  their  charm  and  worth. 

To  many  people  this  may  seem  a rather  toilsome  road 
to  the  enjoyment  of  a poem;  but  they  must  not  forget  that 
a truly  great  work  of  art — and  such  the  smallest  of  Goethe’s 
poems  offen  are — does  not  reveal  its  full  value  without  some 
effort  on  the  part  of  the  observer,  however  strong  a first 
impression  it  may  make. 

We  shall  obtain,  then,  the  best  grasp  of  the  substance 
and  import  of  a poem  by  Goethe  if  we  acquaint  ourselves 
with  its  history.  At  the  same  time  that  we  are  doing  this 
we  shall  catch  most  interesting  glimpses  of  the  inferior 
of  the  poet’s  workshop,  even  though  but  through  a cranny. 
We  shall  see  a large  part  of  his  songs  spring  up  quickly  and 
develop  to  full  flower  out  of  a simple  occasion.  We  shall 
see  a smaller  part  also  shoot  up  quickly,  and  then  stand 
still,  until  new  occasions  come  to  force  them  to  maturity. 
We  shall  see  a third  part  pass  through  several  transforma- 
tions;  at  times  only  the  outward  form  being  affected,  at 
other  times  the  whole  tendency  undergoing  a change. 
The  most  instructive  of  these  three  groups  is  the  second. 
Let  us  trace  the  development  of  a few  of  them.  First  the 
Harzreise  im  Winter. 

On  the  moming  of  the  2 9th  of  November,  1777,  the 
poet  is  riding  all  alone  toward  the  Harz.  He  sees  a vulture 
soaring  among  the  dark  snow  clouds  above  him.  So  shall 
the  impressions  made  upon  his  liberated  soul  on  this  lonely 
journey  soar  as  a song  high  above  the  turmoil  of  earthly 
life.  The  first  stanza  of  the  poem  has  taken  shape.  On 
this  journey  the  poet  is  to  visit  a self-torturing  youth.* 
Involuntarily  he  paints  to  himself  the  contrast  between 
his  own  condition  and  that  of  Plessing.  This  comparison 
is  crystallised  in  the  second  stanza.  He  rides  on  and  the 
following  day  beholds  a comfortably  situated  city ; the  sight 
of  it  brings  another  stanza  to  life.  Thus  the  song  keeps 
on  growing  in  sections,  always  following  his  experiences, 
with  an  occasional  secondary  thought  which  suddenly 
flashes  through  his  mind,  until  in  the  ascent  of  the  Brocken, 

* Vol.  i.,  p.  338. 


Gbe  Xpric  fl>oet  39 

on  the  twelfth  day  of  the  joumey,  it  reaches  its  culmination 
and  end. 

If  the  composition  itself  did  not  teach  us  that  the  poem 
is  not  a subsequent  grouping  of  the  experiences  and  emotions 
of  the  joumey,  Goethe’s  diary  and  other  accounts  of  those 
days  would  prove  it.  It  was  conceived  and  its  various 
parts  written  down  under  immediate  impressions.  Never- 
theless,  thanks  to  Goethe’s  instinctive  artistic  power,  it 
received  a unity,  which  is  disturbed  only  by  the  little 
digression  to  call  down  a blessing  upon  his  friends  who  have 
gone  out  to  the  chase.  It  is  of  the  great  theme  of  the 
happiness  in  the  love  of  men  and  the  unhappiness  in  the 
hatred  of  men  that  it  treats,  and  the  Brocken,  which  at 
the  end  looks  down  out  of  the  clouds  “on  the  kingdoms 
and  glory  of  the  world,”  Stands  as  a symbol  of  God,  who 
bestows  his  treasures  upon  the  happy  and  the  unhappy 
in  equal  measure. 

We  must  think  of  the  composition  of  Willkommen  und 
Abschied  as  having  taken  place  in  exactly  the  same  way, 
except  that  the  chain  of  many  links  in  the  Harzreise  is  here 
shortened  to  one  of  three.  In  this  poem  likewüse  each 
link  took  shape  under  the  excitement  of  the  moment.  This 
is  shown  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  poem  and  by  the  outward 
circumstance  that  among  Friederike’s  posthumous  papers 
were  found  only  the  first  ten  lines  of  the  poem,  and  they 
were  not  set  off  in  stanzas. 

Another  peculiar  example  is  found  in  Ilmenau.  The 
great  central  part,  the  vision,  which  brings  back  to  the 
poet  the  Duke  and  his  companions  in  camp  in  the  forest  at 
night,  was  very  probably  composed  in  1776,  likewise  under 
the  fresh  impression  of  the  scene,  and  was  then  put  aside 
for  seven  years,  until  it  was  woven  into  a second  composition 
which  Goethe  dedicated  to  the  Duke. 

Whereas  the  growth  of  these  songs  along  with  a chain 
of  impressions  extends  over  a series  of  days  or  even  years, 
in  other  cases  the  process  lasts  but  a few  hours.  But  the 
development  is  the  same.  We  are  not  to  think  of  the 
poet  as  sitting  down  at  his  desk  afterward  and  making  a 
combination  of  a variety  of  impressions;  we  must  think 


40 


Zbe  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


of  an  immediate  conception,  creation,  and  arrangement. 
The  same  is  true  of  Wanderers  Sturmlied,  which  he  sang 
to  himself  as  an  accompaniment  to  his  different  impulses 
on  a walk;  An  Schwager  Kronos,  which  he  chanted  to  him- 
self during  a ride  in  the  post  chaise;  Auf  dem  See,  in  which 
he  immediately  gave  poetic  form  to  the  pictures  and  feelings 
that  greeted  his  eyes  and  stirred  his  heart  on  a boat  ride, 
entering  the  lines  afterward  in  his  diary;  and,  near  the  end 
of  his  life,  Dem  auf  gehenden  Vollmonde,  in  which  the  quickly 
changing  views  of  the  moon  in  a lightly  overcast  sky  are 
brought  into  harmony  with  his  own  feelings. 

There  is  still  another  way  in  which  he  incorporated  in 
one  song  several  motives  which  were  not  all  present  in  his 
breast  at  the  beginning,  but  came  to  him  afterwards  one 
by  one.  The  first  motive  by  itself  would  give  no  signs  of 
poetic  life  until  a second  was  added,  and  a third  and  a 
fourth,  and  then  they  would  all  gain  life  at  once  and  unite, 
and  from  their  union  would  issue  a poetic  fruit.  In  that 
case  we  have  outwardly  but  one,  or  perhaps  two,  acts  of 
creation;  but  inwardly  more  such  acts  have  taken  place. 
Such  was  the  case  with  the  song  An  den  Mond,  which 
brings  us  back  again  to  the  joumey  to  the  Harz  Mountains. 

On  the  iöth  of  January,  1778,  a young  woman  of  the 
Weimar  Court  circle,  Christel  von  Lasberg,  drowned  her- 
seif in  the  Ilm,  near  Goethe’s  Gartenhaus,  out  of  unhappy 
love — and,  it  was  said,  with  a copy  of  Werther  in  her  pocket. 
Goethe  was  deeply  affected  by  the  tragedy  and  “lingered 
for  several  days  about  the  scene  of  the  death  in  quiet  moum- 
ing.”  His  usually  mobile,  glowing  heart  was  fixed  on  the 
river  by  his  thoughts,  as  by  a ghost.  He  was  greatly 
depressed  for  weeks.  His  depression  grew  worse  when 
Frau  von  Stein  shut  herseif  off  from  him.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  new  month  his  beloved  tumed  to  him  again,  and, 
happy  in  her  possession,  he  was  glad  to  observe  his  “con- 
tinued,  absolute  estrangement  from  men.”  A walk  with 
her  in  the  moonlight  perfected  this  beautiful,  pure  mood, 
and  his  soul  feit  at  last  entirely  free  from  the  depression 
and  the  suspense  of  the  past  weeks.  The  first  four  stanzas 


4i 


Zhe  H^ric  ipoet 

of  the  song  An  den  Mond  were  crystallised  in  their  original 
form.  A few  days  more  passed  and  on  the  226.  of  February 
he  visited  Plessing,  who  “drank  hatred  of  men  out  of 
fulness  of  love,”  and  lived  a secluded  life  in  bitter  estrange- 
ment.  This  fumished  the  last  stanzas,  which  the  poet 
directed  to  Plessing,  to  Frau  von  Stein,  and  to  himself. 
At  the  same  time  they  take  us  back  to  Christel  von  Lasberg, 
to  whom  it  was  not  granted  to  enjoy  with  a husband  the 
best  things  of  life.  The  poem  in  its  original  form  runs: 

g-üUeft  triebet’ g liebe  £al 
©tili  mit  Slebelglanj, 
ßöfeft  enblidj  aucf)  einmal 
SD^eine  Seele  ganj ; 

ÜBreiteft  über  mein  ©efilb 
ßinbernb  b einen  SBlitf, 

SBie  ber  ßiebften  Sluge  milb 
Über  mein  ©efdjicf. 

Sag  bu  [o  betoeglicE)  fennft, 

Siefeg  §erj  im  ÜBranb, 

. galtet  iljr  trie  ein  ©efpenff 
Sin  ben  gluf  gebannt. 

SBenn  in  ober  SBinternacfjt 
©r  öomSobefcf)triEt, 

Unb  bet  grüblingglebeng  ipracljt 
Sin  ben  Änofpen  quillt. 

Selig  tner  fic^  ttor  berSBelt 
Oljne  $afi  öerfdjlie^t, 

©inen  Sttamt  am  SBufen  Ijält 
Unb  mit  bem  geniest, 

SSSaö  bem  Sttenfcfyen  unberouftt 
Ober  tnof)l  oeradjt 
Surcf)  bag  ßabtirintf)  ber  SBruft 
SBanbelt  in  ber  Slacbt.* 

* Fill’st  the  Iovely  vale  again 
Still  with  misty  light, 

And  dissolvest  all  the  strain 
From  my  soul  to-night. 


42 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


Whereas  one  root  of  this  song  rests  in  the  sorrowful  end 
of  Fräulein  von  Lasberg,  there  is  a bailad  which  sends  down 
all  its  roots  to  the  tragedy.  It  is  Der  Fischer,  which  de- 
scribes  the  natural  fascinating  power  of  water.  Düring 
the  days  when  Goethe  was  busy  with  pickaxe  and  spade, 
Converting  a comer  of  the  park  into  a monument  to  the 
dead  girl,  he  wrote  to  Frau  von  Stein,  “We  worked  tili 
after  nightfall,  and  finally  I alone  tili  the  hour  of  her  death.” 
He  wamed  Frau  von  Stein,  whose  melancholy  moods  he 
knew,  not  to  go  down  to  the  river;  for  “this  inviting  grief 
has  a dangerous  attraction,  like  the  water  itself,  and  the 
reflection  of  the  stars  of  heaven,  which  shines  out  of  both, 
entices  us.” 

ßocft  bid)  ber  tiefe  Fimmel  nid)t, 
feucfjtöerflärte  iBlau  ? 

ßocft  bid)  beiit  eigen  Slngefidjt 
9hd)t  her  tn  ero’gcntiau?  * 

O’er  my  meadows  from  on  high 
Send’st  thy  soothing  gaze, 

Like  my  sweetheart’s  gentle  eye 
O’er  my  fortune’s  ways. 

And  this  heart,  thou  know’st  it  well, 

Mobile  and  agleam. 

Hold  ye  by  a ghostly  spell 
To  the  silent  stream, 

When  in  winter’s  cheerless  night 
Deadly  swell  its  floods, 

And  in  spring’s  new-born  delight 
Mirror  bursting  buds. 

Happy  he  who,  free  from  hate, 

Leaves  the  world’s  vain  noise, 

To  his  bosom  clasps  a mate, 

And  with  him  enjoys 

What,  by  common  folk  unguessed, 

Or  esteemed  but  light, 

Through  the  mazes  of  the  breast 
Softly  steals  by  night. 

* Doth  it  not  Iure  thee — heaven’s  deep, 

The  lustrous,  limpid  blue  ? 

Doth  not  thine  own  face  bid  thee  leap 
Within  th’  etemal  dew? 


£b e Xipric  Ipoet 


43 


Here  we  have  an  example  of  one  occasion  giving  rise  to 
two  poems,  which  tend  in  opposite  directions,  not  merely 
because  the  experience  was  rieh  enough  in  content  to 
arouse  different  thoughts,  pictures,  and  moods,  but  also 
because  in  Goethe’s  harmonious  soul  the  one  demanded 
the  other  as  a counterpoise.  With  the  dangerous  natural 
fascination  of  the  water,  in  whose  floods  glistens  a deceptive 
image  of  the  moon,  is  contrasted  the  healing  charm  of  the 
real  heavenly  sphere,  which  sheds  its  light  over  bush  and 
vale. 

The  song  An  den  Mond  may  serve  as  an  example  of  the 
dass  of  poems  which  experienced  a more  or  less  thorough- 
going  transformation.  Goethe  did  not  publish  it  in  the 
original  form.  It  doubtless  seemed  to  him  too  harsh 
and  obscure.  It  appeared  in  print  for  the  first  time  in  1789 
in  a new  Version.  The  beginning  and  the  end  were  changed 
but  little — the  most  important  alteration  was  the  Substi- 
tution in  the  second  stanza  of  “ des  Freundes ” for  “ der 
Liebsten ” (“friend”  for  “ sweetheart  ”) . The  middle  of 
the  poem,  however,  was  considerably  lengthened,  and  all 
reference  to  the  death  of  the  young  lady  of  the  Court  was 
expunged.  A new  motive  was  introduced  into  the  poem, 
which  became  the  fundamental  motive,  and  with  it  the  mo- 
tives  which  were  retained  were  most  artistically  blended. 
The  song  became  the  lament  of  a woman  whose  lover 
has  forsaken  her,  and  whose  soul  experiences  an  alleviation 
of  its  sorrow  as  she  strolls  forth  by  the  glorifying  light 
of  the  moon  to  the  scenes  of  her  bittersweet  memories. 
The  last  stanzas  mark  the  culmination  of  these  remem- 
brances.  Their  seriousness  has  previously  been  referred  to 
in  the  lines,  “Once,  alas,  this  treasure  rare  I myself  did 
own.” 

We  may  assume  that  this  new  song  was  composed  in 
Italy,  as  an  expression  of  Frau  von  Stein’s  sorrow  at  the 
time  when  she  interpreted  Goethe’s  secret  flight  and  stub- 
bom  silence  as  a sign  that  he  had  forsaken  her  faithlessly 
and  for  ever.  Through  this  song  he  liberated  himself 
from  the  pain  which  the  sorrow  of  his  beloved  caused  him, 


44 


Zhc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


and  he  thought  he  was  also  alleviating  her  pain  by  sending 
her  this  complaint  against  himself,  which  gives  evidence 
of  such  keen  appreciation  of  her  suffering.  But  the  un- 
believing,  sorely  disappointed  woman  found  it  an  inade- 
quate expression  of  her  emotions.  She  intensified  the 
lamentation  and  the  accusation,  and  in  this  changed  form 
it  was  found  among  her  papers. 

An  example  of  a more  gentle,  and  yet  significant,  trans- 
formation  is  the  famous  poem  to  Friederike,  Kleine  Blumen, 
kleine  Blätter , which  the  poet  never  published  in  its  original 
form.  He  erased  the  stanza, 

8cßicffal,  fegnc  biefe  Triebe, 

Saß  mid)  ißt  unb  laß  fie  mein, 

Saß  baS  Seben  linfrer  Siebe 
®od)  fein  Olofenleben  fein.* 

He  also  changed  the  second  line  of  the  last  stanza  from 
“ Reich  mir  deine  liebe  Hand ” (“Place  thy  darling  hand 
in  mine”)  to  “ Reiche  frei  mir  deine  Hand ” (“Freely  place 
thy  hand  in  mine”),  and  substituted  “Blick”  (“glance”) 
for  “Kuss”  (“kiss”)  in  another  verse,  thus  lowering  the 
tone  of  the  love  song,  in  which  the  lover  longs  for  etemal 
union  with  his  sweetheart,  to  that  of  a poem  of  warm 
homage,  which,  after  the  fashion  of  the  eighteenth  Century, 
desires  nothing  but  lasting  friendship.  He  had  two  reasons 
for  making  these  alterations:  his  spiritual  desire  to  bring 
the  earlier  document  into  harmony  with  the  later  course 
of  his  youthful  love,  and  his  artistic  taste,  which  sought 
to  avoid  the  repetition  of  similar  thoughts  and  comparisons 
in  the  last  two  stanzas. 

With  the  alterations  which  are  not,  as  in  the  case  of 
An  den  Mond,  determined  by  new  personal  motives,  there 
is  usually  introduced  into  the  composition  something  less 
individual  and  farther  removed  from  the  impressions  of 
the  moment.  As  a result  the  poem  is  made  easier  to  under- 

* Fortune,  bless  this  pure  emotion, 

Keep  me  hers  and  keep  her  mine, 

Let  the  life  of  our  devotion 
Never  !ike  the  rose  decline. 


45 


Gbe  %yv\c  poet 

stand,  but  is  robbed  of  some  of  its  personal  charm.  In 
Willkommen  und  Abschied,  for  example,  the  second  line, 
“ Und  fort,  wild,  wie  ein  Held  zur  Schlacht ” (“Swift  as  a 
warrior  to  the  fight”), — so  characteristic  of  young  Goethe 
dashing  away  at  mad  speed  toward  Sesenheim — is  changed 
to  the  tamer  reading,  “ Es  war  getan,  fast  eh  gedacht  ” (’T  was 
done  almost  as  soon  as  thought”).  In  the  poem  Jägers 
Abendlied,  a Weimar  echo  of  his  former  relation  to  Lili, 
the  poet  replaces  the  stanza  which  reminds  one  so  much 
of  Orestes  and  Faust — 

35eS  9ttett|d)en,  ber  in  aller  ©eit 
9hc  finöet  9tuf)  nod)  9taft; 

§5em  roie  3U  §aufe,  [0  im  gelb 
©ein  §erse  fcfyttuUt  jur  Saft  * — 

by  a new  one,  which  suggests  nothing  but  the  unhappy 
lover: 

£)e$  5D^enfcben,  ber  bie  ©eit  burdjftreift, 

©oll  Unmut  unb  ©erbrufo 
Often  unb  nad)  ©eften  fdjroeift, 

©eil  er  bid)  taffen  raup.t 

In  his  effort  to  make  his  poetry  intelligible  to  all  he  has 
effaced  many  a beautiful  and  interesting  feature,  character- 
istic of  his  former  seif,  by  the  changing  of  a single  word. 
In  Wonne  der  Wehmut,  which  he  composed  in  1775  out  of 
sorrow  over  his  Separation  from  Lili,  we  read  in  the  origi- 
nal Version:  “ Trocknet  nicht,  trocknet  nicht,  Tränen  der 
heiligen  Liebe!”  (“Dry  ye  not,  dry  ye  not,  tears  of  a love 
that  is  holy”)-  We  find  the  same  adjective  applied  to  love 
in  a letter  to  Auguste  Stolberg  of  the  same  period.  Out 
of  fear  that  the  reader  might  not  fully  understand  why  he 
characterised  love  as  holy,  he  later  erased  the  word  “ heili- 
gen” and  substituted  for  it  “ewigen”  (“ everlasting ”) . In 
the  Wanderers  Nachtlied  of  February  12,  1776,  he  changed 

* Cf.  vol.  ii-,  p.  2. 
t The  man  of  trouble  and  unrest, 

Who  roameth  far  and  wide, 

Now  tow’rd  the  east,  now  tow’rd  the  west, 

Since  forced  to  leave  thy  side. 


46 


JZbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


“ Alle  Freud'  und  Schmerzen  stillest"  (“  Every  joy  and  sorrow 
stillest”)  to  “Alles  Leid  und  Schmerzen  stillest"  (“Every 
pain  and  sorrow  stillest”).  In  the  poem  Einschränkung 
(August  3,  1776),  one  of  the  most  exquisite  documents  of 
the  beginning  of  his  career  in  Weimar,  he  made  many  altera- 
tions  out  of  consideration  for  Karl  August ; there  were  other 
changes  which  he  made  without  being  constrained  by  this 
motive.  The  phrase,  “ In  reine  Dumpfheit  gehüllt"  (“Wrapped 
in  a pure  dream-veil”*),  which  characterises  so  aptly 
young  Goethe’s  and  the  Duke’s  striving,  a striving  that  was 
a groping  about  in  the  dark,  and  yet  pure,  was  reduced  to 
the  simple,  but  hardly  more  intelligible,  expression  “einge- 
hüllt" (“  inwrapped ”). 

We  have  put  forward  prominently  the  inward  and  out- 
ward truth  of  Goethe’s  poems.  Outward  truth,  in  that 
they  portray  experiences;  inward  truth,  in  that  the  ex- 
periences  are  of  a normal  and  typical  character  and  their 
typical  value  is  further  enhanced  by  artistic  elaboration. 
In  this  element  of  truth  they  show  a very  great  advance 
over  Goethe’s  predecessors.  If  we  except,  perhaps,  the  un- 
fortunate  poet  Johann  Christian  Günther,  and  Klopstock, 
whose  productions  in  this  field  were  essentially  intellectual 
lyrics,  the  lyric  poetry  before  Goethe,  in  so  far  as  it  made 
any  literary  pretensions,  was,  like  all  the  poetry  of  the  time, 
nothing  but  “polite  leaming,  ” as  it  aptly  styled  itself. 
Poets  read  the  lyric  models,  both  good  and  bad,  among 
the  ancients  and  among  the  Freneh,  they  leamed  their 
modes  of  expression  and  their  artificial  manner,  and  with 
this  knowledge  patched  together  tender,  gallant  songs. 
Young  Goethe  said  with  reference  to  this  state  of  affairs: 
“We  are  actuated  by  an  artificial  feeling;  our  imagination 
composes  its  poetry  with  a cold  heart.”  The  worthy 
Anacreontic  poet  Christian  Felix  Weisse  had  no  idea  at 
all  to  what  extent  he  was  mocking  himself  when  he  affirmed, 
in  the  consciousness  of  his  innocence : 

* The  word  Dumpfheit,  as  here  employed  by  Goethe,  connotes  so 
much  that  it  defi.es  translation.  For  a scholarly  and  most  interesting  dis- 
cussion  of  the  semasiology  of  the  word  see  Boueke,  Wort  und  Bedeutung 
in  Goethes  Sprache,  pp.  1 56  ff.,  297  ff.,  and  306. — C. 


Gbe  X\>ric  poet 


47 


3d)  träumte  ftetö  in  fRofenlaubert, 

Unb  tuarb  am  ©d)reibetifd)e  ttmd). 

Sd)  träumte  9J?oft  aug  $od)l)cim3  Trauben, 

Unb  fd)öpfte  meinen  aus  bem  iBad).* 

The  fundamental  truthfulness  of  his  nature  had  led 
Goethe,  even  while  a Student  at  Leipsic, 5 to  break  away  from 
this  empty,  vapid  dalliance  in  verse,  even  though  he  may 
later,  now  and  then,  have  paid  homage  to  the  fashionable 
gods  and  donned  the  wig  and  sword  of  gallantry.  But  the 
bursting  of  the  last  bits  of  the  shell  which  still  clung  to  his 
genius  and  cramped  it  was  accomplished  by  his  contact  with 
the  teachings  of  Herder  and  folk-poetry.  When,  a short 
time  after  his  return  from  Strasburg,  he  begged  the  genius 
of  his  fatherland  to  cause  to  rise  up  a youth  in  whose  songs 
there  should  be  truth  and  living  beauty,  not  gay,  soap- 
bubble  ideals,  such  as  were  floating  about  in  hundreds  of 
German  songs,  he  knew  very  well  that  this  youth  had 
already  arisen  in  his  own  person.  He  had  already  sung 
Willkommen  und  Abschied,  Mailied,  Heidenröslein,  Der 
Wandrer , Wanderers  Sturmlied,  Felsweihe-Gesang,  Elysium, 
and  Pilgers  Morgenlied,  which  were  soon  followed  by  Adler 
und  Taube,  Mahomets  Gesang,  Prometheus,  Ganymed,  An 
Schwager  Kronos,  Künstlers  Abendlied,  and  the  many  other 
effusions  of  his  youth,  some  breathing  Storm  and  Stress, 
others  enveloped  in  the  aura  of  peaceful  repose. 

Before  this  virile  afflatus  the  old  fictitious  world  of 
namby-pamby  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  disappeared 
on  every  hand,  the  Chloes  and  Phyllises,  the  Damoetases 
and  Philintes  vanished,  and  made  way  for  true  existence 
and  for  living  human  beings,  grasped  by  a vigorous  hand 
from  the  jangling  confusion  of  the  world.  Here  there  was 
no  imaginary  lover,  no  imaginary  sweetheart — he  hardly 
ever  drew  on  the  old  stock  of  properties  for  a name  to 
cloak  his  Originals;  nor  was  there  any  imaginary  circum- 

* I ever  dreamed  in  rosy  bowers, 

And  at  my  writing  desk  awoke; 

I dreamed  new  hock  of  wondrous  powers, 

And  dipped  my  own  from  out  the  brook. 


48 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


stance — except  perchance  a real  circumstance  transformed 
into  a symbolic  picture — or  any  “pretended  emotions.” 
In  Goethe,  the  mortal  enemy  of  empty  words,  we  shall  seek 
in  vain  for  meaningless  phrases.  Strike  where  one  will 
the  many  hundred  statues,  large  or  small,  of  his  lyric 
Pantheon,  they  will  no where  sound  hollow.  On  the  con- 
trary,  one  may  say  of  the  most  of  them  that  their  metal  is 
of  too  compact  a nature.  The  lyric  moulds  were  too  small 
to  contain  comfortably  the  abundance  of  material  which 
he  poured  into  them.  This  quality  of  compactness  became 
more  and  more  marked  as  he  grew  older.  The  over-abun- 
dance  of  material  caused  the  meaning  of  many  of  the  poet’s 
songs  to  be  shrouded  in  darkness,  or  at  least  in  a kind  of 
crepuscular  light,  such  as  we  have  previously  seen  resulting 
from  the  individual  nature  of  the  experiences  to  which  they 
owed  their  origin.  Again  we  are  reminded  of  his  com- 
parison  of  his  poetry  to  painted  window-panes. 

When  we  say  that  Goethe’s  poems  reflect  typical  truth, 
we  at  the  same  time  declare  that  their  thought-content  is 
true  and  genuine.  It  is  not  necessary  that  every  true 
thought  should  be  distinguished  by  depth.  The  truth 
contained  in  Goethe’s  poems,  however,  causes  our  eyes  to 
penetrate  to  their  utmost  depths  the  human  breast  and 
the  riddles  of  the  universe. 

Let  us  choose  as  examples  of  his  lyrics  of  feeling  very 
short  poems,  because  in  them  the  significant  content  will 
be  most  clearly  revealed. 

Wonne  der  Wehmut  is  a poem  of  only  six  lines : 

Urocfnet  nicht,  trocfnet  nicht, 
tränen  ber  einigen  Siebe! 

Steh ! nur  bem  halb  getroefneten  Sluge 
SBic  öbe,  mic  tot  bie  SBelt  iljrn  erfefjeint! 
trocfnet  nidjt,  trocfnet  nicht, 

Urüncn  nnglMIicfyer  Siebe ! * 

* Dry  ye  not,  dry  ye  not, 

Tears  of  a love  everlasting! 

Ah!  to  the  eye  still  half  dimmed  with  weeping 
How  dreary,  how  dead  the  world  doth  appear! 


Gbe  X^ric  poet 


49 


Yet  how  deep  an  insight  these  few  lines  give  us!  There 
is  no  great,  true  happiness  without  pain.  Hence  even  the 
happiness  of  true  love  must  be  accompanied  by  pain  and 
tears.  True  love  is  of  God,  a part  of  the  divine  love  per- 
meating  the  universe.  Hence  it  is  everlasting,  or,  as  we 
read  in  the  original  Version,  holy.  If  the  tears  of  this  love 
were  to  dry  up,  it  would  be  a sign  that  the  love  itself  had 
withered.  Without  love  the  world  appears  dreary  and 
dead,  a soulless,  jangling  mechanism.  And,  as  Goethe, 
late  in  life,  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  songs  of  his  West- 
östlicher  Divan,  distinctly  pointed  out,  God  seemed  lonely  to 
himself  before  he  had  sent  love  into  the  world.  To  this 
philosophy  of  the  world  unhappy  love  is  a thing  unknown; 
and  in  the  original  Version  the  last  line  spoke  only  of  “tears 
of  a love  everlasting.”  For  even  the  tears  of  unhappy 
love  have  something  blessed  about  them.  Indeed,  they 
enable  us  to  feel  our  intimate  relation  to  the  world  more 
clearly  than  do  the  tears  of  happy  love.  With  the  Situation 
in  mind  in  which  he  had  composed  the  little  song,  when 
his  love  for  Lili  had  proved  to  be  an  unhappy  love,  he 
wrote,  “Through  the  most  glowing  tears  of  love  I gazed 
on  the  moon  and  the  world,  and  everything  about  me  was 
soulful.”  In  so  far  the  last  line  now  appears  as  a climax, 
and  it  is  an  evidence  of  Goethe’s  good  judgment  that  he 
gave  “ unhappy”  love  a place  in  the  poem,  instead  of  merely 
repeating  the  first  two  lines  as  a refrain. 

True  love  is  a fructifying  influence  which  radiates  in  all 
directions.  Not  only  does  it  unite  us  more  closely  with  the 
world,  in  general  it  makes  man  nobler  and  purer.  It  casts 
out  all  that  is  ignoble,  crude,  and  harsh,  melts  selfishness 
hidden  away  in  deep  “wintry  caves,”  and,  because  it  is 
“the  spirit  of  purity  itself,”  it  helps  the  good  in  man  to 
attain  to  a free  and  happy  growth.  Out  of  this  feeling 
Goethe  composed  Herbstgefühl,  about  the  same  time.  The 
vine  outside  his  window  is  bedewed  with  the  tears  of  ever- 
animating  love,  and  so  the  song  begins : 

Dry  ye  not,  dry  ye  not, 

Tears  of  a love  all  unhappy! 

VOL.  III. — 4 


5o 


abe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


getter  grüne,  bu  2aub, 

9lm  Siebengdänber 
§icr  mein  genfter  herauf! 

©ebrängter  quellet, 

SroiUingöbeeren,  nnb  reifet 
Schneller  unb  gtäiqenb  Dotier!  * 

Then  from  this  little  glimpse  of  Autumn  we  are  carried 
by  a quick  tum  to  the  most  fmitful  foundation  of  the 
moral  world . 

In  this  connection  we  must  recall  the  concluding  stanzas 
of  the  song  entitled  An  den  Mond,  in  which  the  poet  says, 
“ Happy  he  who  leaves  the  world’s  vain  noise  and  to  his 
bosom  clasps  a friend.”  But  not  for  weak  self-enjoyment. 
Hence  the  condition,  “ without  hate.”  This  is  not  meant  to 
convey  the  idea  of  indifference ; the  poet  means,  rather,  with 
love  toward  the  world  and  with  the  determination  to  con- 
tinue  to  exert  an  influence  in  the  world,  as  we  see  more 
clearly  from  the  further  lines,  “And  with  him  enjoys, 
what,  by  common  folk  unguessed,  or  esteemed  but  light, 
through  the  mazes  of  the  breast  softly  steals  by  night.” t 
In  order  to  gain  the  best  things  in  the  life  of  man,  and 
in  this  way  to  strengthen  himself  for  active  participation 
in  the  work  of  the  world,  the  individual  not  only  has  the 
right,  but  it  is  his  duty  at  times,  to  withdraw  from  the 
world.  For  the  world,  with  its  noise  and  superficiality, 
prevents  the  awakening  of  the  best  that  is  in  man,  which 
can  be  drawn  from  the  depths  of  the  soul  only  by  a like- 
minded  friend  and  when  all  around  is  still.  Unknown  to 
men,  or  not  taken  into  account  by  them,  it  passes  through 
the  labyrinth  of  the  breast  in  the  night.  This  is  not  obscure 
rhetoric,  such  as  is  so  frequently  employed  by  shallow 
minds  to  give  confused  thought  the  semblance  of  pro- 
fundity;  like  the  “ labyrinthian  cavems”  of  the  original 

* Green  more  richly,  ye  leaves, 

That  up  o’er  the  trellis 
Past  my  window  do  rise! 

More  densely  swell  ye, 

Berries  twin,  and  more  quickly 
Ripen  to  fuller  splendour! 

f See  page  42. 


Gbe  %yx\c  fl>oet 


51 


Version  of  the  Marienbad  Elegie,  it  is  an  impressive  Symbol 
of  the  labyrinthian  intricacies  of  our  soul-powers,  which 
psychology  only  with  difficulty  is  able  to  unravel. 

To  these  examples  may  be  added  one  more  little  song. 
It  numbers  four  lines  and  is  placed  in  the  mouth  of  Suleika. 

®er  Spiegel  fagt  mir:  id)  bin  fd)ön  ! 

3l)r  fagt:  311  altern  fei  and)  mein  ©efdficf. 
fßor  ©ott  muß  aüeö  etnig  ftebn, 

3n  mir  liebt  3f)ti,  für  biefen  SIttgenblicf. 

It  begins  with  outward  things.  Suleika  is  standing 
before  a mirror  and  admires  her  reflection — "The  mirror 
teils  me  I am  fair!”  She  hears  mocking  voices:  “Ye  say, 
to  age  my  certain  fate  will  be.”  True,  but:  “To  God  all 
things  etemal  are.”  Even  though  ye,  like  this  mirror, 
look  upon  my  beauty  as  something  ephemeral,  before 
God  it  Stands  etemal ; for,  like  everything  eise,  it  is  an  ema- 
nation  from  Hirn.  “For  this  one  moment,  then,  love 
Hirn  in  me.”  At  least  for  the  moment  that  my  beauty 
endures.  Thus  the  diminutive  song  leads  us  from  a look 
into  the  mirror  to  the  Etemal,  to  the  Most  High ; and  while 
the  poet,  in  these  narrow  limits,  is  developing  the  quickly 
rising  thought,  he  at  the  same  time  has  space  enough  to 
show  us  Suleika  in  her  beauty,  her  depth,  and  her  humility. 

The  social  song  is  looked  upon  as  a lower  Order  of  emo- 
tional lyric.  Yet  what  inspiring  eamestness  Goethe  has  suc- 
ceeded  in  imparting  to  his  cheery  symposiac  compositions ! 
To  his  faithful  friends  who  share  the  cup  with  him  he  grants 
absolution  only  on  condition  that  they  shall  strive  unceas- 
ingly  to  break  themselves  of  their  habit  of  half-doing 
things,  and  to  live  resolutely  whole  lives  of  goodness  and 
beauty  ( Generalbeichte , 1804).  He  advises  one  to  count  on 
the  vanity  of  the  world,  by  which  he  means  to  declare 
one’s  complete  resignation  in  order  the  more  surely  to  make 
the  world  one’s  own  possession  ( Vanitas ! Vanitatum  Vani- 
tas! 1806).  For  him  who  takes  people  just  as  they  are, 
with  toleration,  he  prophesies  their  willing  co-operation 
(Offne  Tafel,  1813).  He  lauds  honest,  joyful,  determined 


52 


Zbe  %\fc  of  (Boctbe 


action  and  condemns  etemal  sighing  and  groaning,  and, 
above  all  eise,  affected  sorrow  over  the  wickedness  and 
miserableness  of  the  world  ( Rechenschaft , 1810).  To  the 
good  and  strong,  who  always  keep  up  their  courage,  he  prom- 
ises  not  only  happy  hours  when  a bibamus  shall  rejoice  their 
ears,  but  even  happier  ones  when  the  clouds  hanging  over 
the  world  shall  part  and  through  the  rift  the  Deity  shall 
appear  in  splendour  ( Ergo  Bibamus,  1810).  Indeed,  the 
happy  couples  belonging  to  the  Wednesday  Club  go  out 
from  the  sacred  feast  and  scatter  throughout  the  broad 
universe,  as  social  monads  creating  new  worlds  ( Weltseele , 
1803).  The  serious  appeals  and  the  profound  interpre- 
tations  of  this  worldly  wisdom  are  not  delivered  in  an  awk- 
ward,  obtrusive,  and  pedantic  way;  they  are  presented 
gracefully,  fluently,  humorously,  even  perkily,  so  that  the 
peculiar  character  of  the  social  song  is  preserved.  Goethe 
knew  how  to  transform  the  old  saying,  Pro  patria  est, 
dum  ludere  videmur,  into  a Pro  deo  est. 

In  a lyric  of  feeling  we  demand  a certain  depth  of 
thought,  but  not  in  a narrative  poem.  We  are  satisfied, 
may  even  be  moved  and  delighted,  if  the  event  which  the 
poet  relates  to  us  is  presented  in  an  effective  way.  Thus 
we  have  ballads,  under  which  name  we  include  here  all 
narrative  poems,  which  have  little  or  no  thought-content 
and  yet  are  valued  highly  as  works  of  art;  such  as  Bürger’s 
Lenore,  Schiller’s  Der  Taucher,  Uhland’s  Des  Sängers  Fluch, 
Heine’s  Belsazar,  or  Goethe’s  own  Alexis  und  Dora. 

The  highest  artistic  value,  however,  attaches  to  those 
poems  which  unite  significant  content  and  the  portrayal 
of  a very  interesting  action.  Goethe  wrote  more  such 
ballads  than  any  other  poet.  And  these  poems  have  such 
a magic  charm  for  us  because  the  thought  in  them  is  either 
entirely,  or  most  forcibly,  expressed  through  the  picture,  and 
the  effect  of  the  picture  is  like  that  of  an  enveloping  veil 
through  which  it  is  possible  to  divine  the  thought.  The 
charm  is  further  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  Goethe  has 
woven  the  veil  out  of  wonderful  material.  Realising  with 
fine  discrimination  that  the  deepest  things  that  stir  the 


Gbe  %vxic  poet 


53 


human  heart  are  deposited  in  populär  myths  and  legends 
in  which  supermundane  and  inframundane  powers  and 
forces  are  real  factors  in  ordinary  life,  he  drew  his  material 
from  these  sources.  To  this  category  belongs  Die  Braut  von 
Korinth  (1797). 

We  see  in  this  poem  the  consummation  of  the  effects 
of  an  event  of  world-wide  significance,  the  clash  between 
Christianity  and  heathenism,  in  the  smallest,  and  yet  most 
important,  circle  of  mankind,  the  family.  This  clash, 
furthermore,  may  be  looked  upon  as  a symbol  of  all  conflicts 
arising  from  differences  in  faith,  views,  and  convictions, 
whether  in  matters  pertaining  to  God,  the  state,  society, 
rank,  family,  or  to  the  single  individual  with  whom  one  is 
associated  by  choice  or  by  accident  in  a common  life.  We 
see  how  egoism  (here  that  of  the  sick  mother)  is  only  too 
willing  to  take  faith  into  its  Service,  with  the  pleasing  self- 
delusion  that  the  sacrifices  which  one  demands  in  one ’s 
behalf  will  serve  the  good  cause,  the  generality  of  mankind. 
We  see  the  conflict  between  the  ever-justifiable  Claims 
of  nature  and  the  bigoted  laws  and  fancies  of  men;  we  see 
the  infinite  power  of  love,  which  unites  the  lovers  beyond 
the  grave,  and  how  the  one  person  draws  the  other  to  himself , 
first  the  living  youth  the  dead  maiden,  by  imparting  to 
her  life-blood,  then  the  dead  maiden  the  living  youth,  by 
drawing  from  him  his  life-blood.  But  this  common  death  is 
only  an  awakening  to  new  life,  an  awakening  again  with 
the  kind  old  gods,  who  have  remained  alive  and  will  continue 
to  live,  because  in  them  are  incorporated  the  laws  of  nature. 

Whereas  in  Die  Braut  von  Korinth  Goethe  described  the 
conflict  between  Christianity  and  heathenism  on  Greek 
soil,  in  Die  erste  Walpurgisnacht  (1799)  the  scene  is  on  Ger- 
man soil,  and  here  the  poet’s  sole  purpose  is  to  bring  out 
the  contrast.  Hence  the  two  forms  of  belief  are  set  off 
against  each  other  with  characteristic  distinctness. 

It  is  a very  lively  night  scene.  The  heathen  have  gath- 
ered  on  the  mountain  top  for  their  May  festival,  and  as  they 
approach  All-father  with  noctumal  fire  and  song,  Christian 
warriors  pursue  them,  as  though  they  were  dangerous  wild 


54 


Zbe  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


animals.  They  frighten  away  the  Christians  with  the 
devil,  whom  the  Christians  fable,  and  then  finish  their 
exalted  festival  in  peace. 

Goethe  throws  all  the  light  on  heathenism  and  leaves 
all  the  shade  for  Christianity.  To  be  sure,  he  did  not 
mean  Christianity  as  Jesus  taught  it;  he  meant,  rather, 
that  borne,  erroneous  view  of  the  world  which  considers 
nature  hostile  to  God,  a domain  of  the  devil,  whereas  his 
heathenism  sees  in  nature  the  self-revelation  of  God.  The 
Christians  appear  in  the  ballad  as  cruel  persecutors  of  those 
of  different  belief,  because  they  feel  themselves  hindered  in 
their  belief  by  these  creatures  of  the  devil;  at  the  same 
time  they  are  cowardly  and  are  filled  with  terror  in  the 
presence  of  nature,  which  they  look  upon  as  a work  of  the 
devil.  The  heathen,  on  the  contrary,  are  gentle;  they  con- 
sider  every  being  a creature  of  God,  which  may  well  impair 
the  existence,  but  not  the  belief,  of  another.  Hence  they 
only  ward  off  those  who  attack  them,  while  the  Christians 
slay  even  the  peaceful.  Nor  are  they  afraid  of  anything 
that  is  natural.  No  devil  can  fill  them  with  terror,  because 
they  find  him  nowhere  in  nature.  The  Christians  consider 
their  faith  a faith  fully  revealed  to  them  by  God,  and 
hence  perfect;  the  heathen  consider  theirs  a faith  true  in 
itself,  but  as  yet  imperfect,  because  God-Nature  is  only 
gradually  revealed  to  man.  But  as  the  fire  is  purified 
of  the  smoke,  so  they  hope  that  in  time  their  faith  will  also 
be  purified  of  all  obscuritv. 

Unb  raubt  man  uns  bcn  alten  ©raud), 

‘Dein  Äicf)t,  roer  fann  es  rauben!* 

A third  time  Goethe  treated  the  theme  of  dogmatic  and 
natural  religion,  this  time  limiting  himself  to  a short  pre- 
sentation  of  the  final  conflicts  between  the  two,  in  the  legend 
of  the  Ephesian  goldsmith  ( Gross  ist  die  Diana  der  EpJieser, 
1812),  who  prefers  to  picture  God  according  to  his  likenesses 
in  nature,  rather  than  according  to  the  conceptions  “back 
of  the  silly  forehead  of  man.” 

* Rob  us  they  may  of  customs  old ; 

Who  can  thy  light  deny  us? 


£be  X^ric  poet 


55 


We  have  wandered  far  with  the  poet  in  order  to  assure 
ourselves  of  the  depth  of  his  ballads, — from  Greece  to 
Germany,  and  thence  to  the  soil  of  Asia  Minor.  Let  us 
make  a somewhat  broader  search  and  go  with  him  now  to 
the  waters  of  the  Indus  and  the  Ganges.  There  is  to  be 
found  the  outward  home  of  the  songs  Paria  and  Der  Gott 
und  die  Bajadere.  He  laid  the  scene  of  the  most  profound 
pictures  of  his  conception  of  God  in  the  original  home  of 
the  Indo-Europeans.  We  find  this  conception  most  elabo- 
rately  expressed  in  the  Paria,  which  accounts  for  the  fact 
that  he  carried  the  material  about  in  his  mind  for  forty 
years 6 and  only  in  1824  finally  determined  “to  remove 
it  from  his  inmost  soul  by  means  of  w'ords.” 

Its  fundamental  idea  may  perhaps  be  expressed  in  this 
way:  The  great  masses  long  for  God,  but  cannot  find  him  of 
themselves ; they  need  a mediator.  Such  mediators  are  the 
geniuses  of  mankind.  They  have  a double  nature:  “dwell- 
ing  with  their  heads  in  heaven,  they  feel  the  earth’s  down- 
drawing  power.”  This  double  nature  is  a necessity  willed 
by  God  (“Thus  hath  Brahma  this  decreed”) ; for  it  is  only 
because  of  their  earthly  part  that  they  are  able  to  make 
known  to  God  the  frailties  of  mankind  and  to  move  him  to 
have  mercy  on  the  weary  and  heavy-laden.  This  idea  is  ex- 
plained  by  the  fiery  words  of  the  Indian  mediator,  the  Brah- 
mani,  to  whose  noble  head  is  joined  the  body  of  a sinful 
woman.  Her  closing  words,  “ What  I think  and  what  I feel, 
May  that  a secret  e’er  remain,”  are  very  surprising.  We 
had  thought  that  she  had  expressed  all  her  thoughts  and 
feelings  concerning  her  position  as  a mediator,  and  now  we 
learn  that  her  final,  inmost  thoughts  and  feelings  have  re- 
mained  a secret.  Can  it  be  that  it  is  impossible  to  reveal 
this  secret  ? 

The  Brahmani  has  spoken  of  God  as  something  outside 
herseif;  but  her  secret  thought  is  that  it  is  only  within  her 
that  God  lives,  lives  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word.  And 
she  not  only  thinks  this,  she  feels  it;  indeed,  she  thinks  it 
because  she  feels  it.  Nevertheless  it  seems  best  to  her  to 
keep  these  thoughts  and  feelings  silent,  because  the  crowd 


56 


Zbe  %ifc  of  ßoetbe 


would  shudder  at  them,  as  at  a display  of  blasphemous  pre- 
sumption,  and  would  see  in  her  a destroyer  of  God,  in- 
stead  of  a helper  before  God.  It  is  easy  to  see  why  Goethe 
cherished  and  guarded  this  “ most  significant  fable”  as  a 
“silent  treasure”  for  decades. 

Der  Gott  und  die  Bajadere  (1797)  is,  in  a certain  sense,  a 
prelude  in  which  these  fundamental  motives  of  the  Paria  are 
clearly  anticipated.  Mahadeva,  the  lord  of  the  earth,  be- 
comes  man  in  order  that  he  may  be  God.  “ If  he  is  to  spare 
or  punish  he  as  man  must  men  observe.”  It  is  the  sinners, 
not  the  pure,  who  need  him.  Therefore  he  associates  with 
a sinful  woman,  inspires  her  with  love  for  him  so  strong  that 
while  his  dead  body  is  being  burned  on  a funeral  pile  she  leaps 
into  the  fire  and  thus  is  purified  from  the  filth  into  which  she 
had  sunk.  She  is  now  permitted  to  ascend  with  him  to 
heaven. 

In  some  of  these  examples  which  we  have  chosen  the 
poet  himself  has  now  and  then  lifted  the  symbolic  veil,  in 
others  he  has  woven  it  light  enough  to  enable  us  to  recognise 
the  meaning  which  it  covers.  There  are  other  of  his  ballads, 
however,  in  which  the  veil  is  so  heavy  that  we  are  unable  to 
see  through  it ; indeed  we  may  well  believe  that  it  is  here  not 
a question  of  a veil  at  all,  but  that  what  we  see  is  all  that  the 
poet  desired  to  say  to  us.  The  Ballade  vom  vertriebenen  und 
zurückkehrenden  Grafen  (1816)  and  the  Hochzeitlied  (1802) 
seem  to  belong  to  this  category.  But  we  begin  to  waver  in 
this  opinion  so  soon  as  we  hear  that  Goethe  placed  these  two 
ballads  in  a group  with  Die  Braut  von  Korinth,  Der  Gott  und 
die  Bajadere,  and  the  Paria,  and  said  of  them  all  that  he  had 
carried  the  subjects  in  his  mind  for  decades  and  had  kept 
them  alive  and  effective  in  his  inner  seif.  “ It  seemed  to 
me  the  most  beautiful  possession,”  he  continues,  “to  see 
such  worthy  pictures  often  renewed  in  the  fancy.” 

After  this  confession  there  is  no  room  to  doubt  that  these 
two  ballads  were  also  Symbols  of  deeper-lying  thoughts, 
which  were  constantly  refreshed  in  Goethe’s  mind  by  all 
sorts  of  experiences,  and  became  effective  means  of  pacifica- 
tion  and  enlightenment.  The  very  fact  that  he  tenderly 


Zbe  %$ric  jpoet 


57 


guarded  the  subjects  for  such  a long  time  would  speak  in 
favour  of  this  view.  If  they  had  had  no  deeper  significance  to 
him  he  would  have  yielded  to  some  momentary  impulse  and 
would  have  elaborated  them  quickly,  or,  what  is  more  proba- 
ble, would  have  dropped  them.  For  this  reason  we  must 
seek  to  grasp  their  meaning. 

What  do  we  see  in  the  Hochzeitlied? 

A count,  who  returns  to  his  castle  after  a long  absence, 
finds  it  entirely  empty  and  deserted.  Servants  and  posses- 
sions  have  vanished,  the  wind  sweeps  through  the  Windows. 
This  does  not  disturb  him  in  the  least;  he  preserves  his 
happy  spirit,  goes  cheerfully  to  bed,  and,  like  a good-natured, 
great  lord,  allows  the  dwarfs,  who  visit  him  in  his  slumbers, 
to  take  possession  of  the  castle  and  do  in  it  what  they  will. 
They  celebrate  a wedding,  during  which  the  castle  is  filled 
with  wealth  and  splendour.  “ And  what  he  had  seen  on  a 
scale  neat  and  small,  He  after  enjoyed  on  a large  scale.”  The 
count  is  one  of  those  strong  personalities  whom  Goethe  loved 
and  whose  example  he  sought  to  emulate.  If  one  will  not 
weep,  not  lament  over  past  misfortune,  but  with  fresh,  joy- 
ous  courage  will  build  up  again  what  has  been  destroyed,and, 
if  possible,  give  to  others  from  the  little  that  one  has  left, 
then  one  can  count  upon  receiving,  in  addition  to  one’s  own 
strong  arms,  the  aid  of  the  mighty  arms  of  one’s  compan- 
ions,  and  what  was  lost  will  be  restored  in  greater  beauty 
than  before.  “ Thus  it  was,  and  thus  it  is  to-day.” 

This  is  the  meaning  of  the  poem  and  is  one  of  the  poet’s 
favourite  themes.* 

The  Ballade  vom  vertriebenen  und  zurückkehrenden  Grafen  f 
may  be  called  a hymn  to  the  great  benefactors,  the  “high 
nobility  ” of  mankind.  The  count  belongs  to  this  dass.  He 
is  a returning  Christ,  a returning  Mahadeva.  He  is  best  un- 
derstood  by  children.  “ 0 thou  good  one,”  they  address  him 
as  soon  as  they  see  him,  in  spite  of  his  beggar’s  garb.  His 
love  and  his  kindness  are  not  to  be  disturbed  by  anything; 

*Cf.  Türck,  Eine  neue  Faust-Erklärung,  p.  66. 

t Goethe  planned  to  treat  the  theme  of  this  bailad  dramatically  in  his 
projected  opera,  Der  Löwenstuhl  {cf.  H.,  i.,  287;  W .,  xii.,  294  ff.). — C. 


58 


Gbe  Olife  of  (Soetbe 


neither  by  the  injustices  of  harsh  fate,  nor  by  the  injustices 
of  harsh  men,  whom  we  here  see  in  the  picture  of  the  princely 
son-in-law.  In  fact,  misfortune,  suffering,  and  want  always 
seem  only  to  make  him  better  and  gentler.  He  gives  away 
his  daughter,  his  most  precious  treasure,  without  hesitation, 
and  does  not  even  desire  that  he  be  given  a home  with  her 
by  his  princely  son-in-law,  preferring  to  remain  in  his  beg- 
gar’s  misery,  because  he  feels  that  it  will  be  best  so  for  his 
daughter;  he  “beareth  his  sorrow  with  gladness.”  Long 
years  he  avoids  them  and  his  grandchildren,  then  appears  at 
their  castle,  but  does  not  make  himself  known  until  he  is  in 
a position  to  make  them  all  happy — both  the  just  and  the 
unjust.  “ Blissful  stars”  shine  down  upon  his  entrance.  He 
is  a herald  of  “ gentle  laws,”  he  breaks  “ the  seals  of  the  treas- 
ures”  and  thereby  identifies  himself  as  the  rightful  lord. 

Is  it  still  necessary  to  point  out  the  “ moral”  of  the  fable ? 
It  has  a parallel  in  the  seven  sleepers  {Siebenschläfer,  in  the 
West-östlicher  Divan),  who  are  buried  alive  and  come  back 
to  live  again.  Their  chosen  representative,  Jamblika,  also 
“ establishes  his  personality  ” by  opening  for  the  new  genera- 
tion  the  treasures  which  had  been  walled  in  like  the  seven 
sleepers.  “As  an  ancestor  resplendent  Stands  Jamblika 
in  prime  of  youth.”  Such  benefactors  of  mankind  remain 
for  ever  young. 

Der  getreue  Eckart  (1813)  appears  to  be  nothing  but  a 
versified  children’s  fable  with  the  moral,  “ Silence  is  golden,” 
added  by  the  poet  himself.  Yet  there  is  more  in  it  than  the 
poet  calls  upon  us  to  believe,  for  he  did  not  dare  bürden  the 
innocent  song  addressed  to  children  with  too  heavy  and  too 
broad  a moral.  The  pith  of  the  story  is  not  in  the  silence, 
but  in  the  entertainment  of  the  unfriendly  spirits,  which 
become  friendly  because  of  the  kind  hospitality  shown  them. 
The  gold  of  silence  may  be  more  closely  interpreted  to  mean 
that  one  should  keep  silent  about  the  visit  of  the  good  spirits ; 
otherwise  they  are  frightened  away  and  the  mugs  go  dry. 
There  is  a dangerous  diminution  of  the  good  in  the  mere 
speaking  of  it.  This  is  true  not  only  of  ethics,  but  also  of 
poetry,  as  Goethe  had  very  often  learned  by  experience.  So 


59 


Gbe  Xpric  fl>oet 

soon  as  he  talked  about  inspirations  of  good  spirits,  about 
his  plans  and  projects,  they  ceased  to  grow  and  were  in 
danger  of  drying  up. 

Let  us  further  consider  the  deep  symbolism  which  he  has 
embodied  in  two  more  of  his  most  famous  ballads,  namely, 
Erlkönig  and  Der  König  in  Thule. 

The  symbolism  of  the  Erlkönig  (written  in  1781,  pub- 
lished  in  1782)  paints  the  power  of  the  lower  gods  over  weak 
spirits,  whom  they  approach  in  alluring  garb.  The  weak 
spirits  are  brought  before  us  in  the  character  of  the  sick 
child . Werther  had  treated  his  own  heart  like  a sick  child 
and  had  fallen  a victim  to  suicide.  In  1776  Goethe  had  writ- 
ten of  Lenz  that  he  acted  in  their  Company  like  a sick  child, 
and  two  years  later  Lenz  tried  more  than  once  to  commit 
suicide.  Christel  von  Lasberg,  who  found  her  death  in  a 
region  reminding  one  strongly  of  the  scene  in  the  Erlkönig, 
may  also  have  made  upon  Goethe  the  impression  of  a sick 
child.  When  Erlkönigs  Tochter  appeared  in  1779,  in  the 
second  volume  of  Herder’s  Volkslieder,  Goethe  doubtless 
recognised  in  the  Danish  ballad  a picture  which  could  be 
made  to  suit  the  motive  reposing  in  his  mind,  by  changing 
Herr  Olaf  into  a sick  child  and  the  Erl-King’s  daughter,  who 
may  have  seemed  to  him  too  tender  to  represent  the  dark 
spirits  of  the  earth,  into  the  Erl-King  himself.  The  whole 
thus  became  a companion  piece  to  Der  Fischer,  by  the  side 
of  which  Goethe  placed  it  in  the  collection  of  his  poems,  cer- 
tainly  not  without  his  reasons  for  so  doing.  Moreover,  the 
consciousness  of  this  parallel  may  have  determined  him  to 
have  it  sung  by  the  heroine  of  his  operetta,  Die  Fischerin,7 
who  out  of  vexation  over  her  betrothed  has  no  little  desire  to 
throw  herseif  into  the  water.  To  be  sure,  she  is  no  sick 
child — is,  on  the  contrary,  very  healthy — and  this  very  fact 
gives  us  an  indication  that  Goethe  wished  the  symbolic  Con- 
tent of  the  ballad  to  be  given  a still  broader  Interpretation. 

In  order  to  make  our  meaning  clear  from  the  beginning 
we  have  spoken  somewhat  arbitrarily  of  sick  children.  The 
ballad  itself  speaks  of  the  child  only  in  a general  way,  but  we 
may  very  well  imagine  it  to  be  ill,  without  doing  violence  to 


6o 


ZEbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


Goethe’s  meaning.  Behind  the  sick  child,  however,  are 
children  in  general.  Most  people  are  like  such  children, 
except  that  they  are  well.  They  see  things  not  as  they  are, 
but  as  their  fancy,  free  from  any  restraint  of  strict  morality 
or  objectivity,  paints  them.  This  fancy  is  especially  excit- 
able  when  people  are  under  the  strain  of  any  anxiety.  Then 
they  see  ghosts  and  evil  spirits  everywhere.  In  Die  Fisch- 
erin, for  example,  Niklas,  the  fisherman,  a sturdy  fellow, 
wholly  free  from  sickly  sentimentality,  consumes  his  bread 
and  brandy,  and  yet  in  his  anxiety  about  his  Dortchen  he 
hears  screams  where  all  is  still  and  allows  himself  to  be  tor- 
tured  by  premonitions  and  by  evil  spirits,  who  soon  flutter 
away  as  creatures  of  his  delusion.  Men  are  just  such  Nik- 
lases.  Through  their  imagination  they  lose  their  lives  with- 
out  dying.  Thus  the  inward  truth  of  the  song  is  found  to 
have  a quite  general  application  to  the  children  among  men. 

Der  König  in  Thule  was  written  between  1771  and  1774. 
The  nucleus  of  the  explanation  of  this  bailad  lies  in  the  sacred 
golden  goblet.  The  goblet  is  the  sweet,  yet  painful,  mem- 
ory  which  a great  experience  leaves  behind.  Goethe,  draw- 
ing  from  his  own  life,  employs  here  as  the  symbol  of  a great 
experience  an  ardent  love  of  deep  significance.  It  is  now  a 
thing  of  the  past.  The  beloved  one  is  dead.  His  remem- 
brance  of  her  is  still  sweet  and  golden ; for  it  recalls  precious 
pictures,  and  brings  him  to  a consciousness  of  the  great 
moral  advancement  which  he  has  experienced  through  her, 
both  at  the  time  and  under  her  enduring  influence.  Hence 
the  goblet  is  valued  by  the  king  above  all  eise.  His  remem- 
brance  is  also  full  of  pain  and  is  sacred,  for  it  reminds  him  of 
days  long  gone,  and  of  the  dear  departed,  a noble  personality, 
sanctified  by  her  purity  and  her  sufferings.  The  king’s  eyes 
fill  with  tears  as  oft  as  he  drinks  from  the  goblet.  Such 
remembrances  cannot  be  bequeathed.  They  sink  with  us 
into  the  ocean  that  engulfs  our  lives. 

In  addition  to  truth  and  genuineness,  intrinsic  merit  and 
depth,  Goethe’s  poems  have  the  further  precious  quality  of 
inwardness.  “Inward  warmth,  spirit-warmth  — central 
point!”  was  the  sententious  demand  which  the  fiery  youth 


£be  X^ric  poet  61 

had  made  of  his  cold-hearted  Century.  His  genius  was 
Phoebus  Apollo,  the  sun  which  fills  man  with  natural 
warmth,  not  Father  Bromius,  Bacchus,  through  whom  others 
sought  to  give  themselves  artificial  warmth.  “ Whom  thou 
ne’er  forsakest,  Genius,  him  wilt  thou  wrap  warmly  in 
the  snow-storm!”  (Wanderers  Sturmlied).  “Thou,  omni- 
present  Love,  glow’st  in  me!” (Pilgers  Morgenlied) . “I  feel 
what  makes  the  poet,  a full  heart,  filled  entirely  with  one 
emotion”  (Franz,  in  Götz  von  Berlichingen) . It  was  out  of 
his  full,  glowing  heart  that  Goethe  wrote  his  poetry,  for 
which  reason  all  his  poems  breathe  refreshing  warmth  and 
inwardness.  With  this  inwardness  is  saturated  not  only 
his  lyric  poetry  in  the  narrow  sense,  his  poetry  of  feeling,  but, 
what  surprises  us  more,  even  his  poetry  of  thought  and  his 
ballads. 

It  is  true  that  other  poets  have  sung  their  thoughts  with 
lofty  inspiration.  We  think  first  of  all  of  Klopstock  and 
Schiller.  Nevertheless,  in  comparison  with  Goethe,  there  is 
something  cold  about  their  poems.  How  shall  we  account 
for  this?  In  inspired  flights  Goethe  is  inferior  to  them. 
When  Klopstock  and  Schiller  speak  to  us  we  feel  as  though 
we  were  listening  to  preachers  or  philosophers,  who  wish  to 
exert  an  influence  and  have  lent  poetic  form  to  their  thoughts 
in  Order  to  achieve  the  noblest  effect.  It  is  different  with 
Goethe;  it  is  not  his  desire  to  make  an  impression,  and  he 
does  not  think  of  others. 

We  feel  that  these  poems  of  thought  are  not  the  products, 
or  at  least  not  merely  the  products,  of  a speculative  mind, 
as  is  the  case  with  Schiller,  nor  of  a somewhat  confused 
ecstasy,  as  is  the  case  with  Klopstock ; they  are,  rather,  the 
results  of  a life  grasped  by  the  whole  soul,  with  understanding 
and  reason,  with  heart  and  eyes,  and  dearly  paid  for  with 
joys  and  sorrows.  Hence  the  deep,  inward  warmth  which 
they  radiate,  and  the  passionate  symbolism  which  animates 
them.  We  feel  that  the  poet  has  not  withdrawn  from 
them  after  they  were  bom.  We  feel  his  immediate  presen ce 
in  them  with  his  loving  heart.  There  is  a permanent  rela- 
tion  between  him  and  them.  This  feature  is  characteristic 


62 


Gbe  Xi  fe  of  (Soetbe 


of  his  thought  poems  in  every  period  of  his  life : Wanderers 

Sturmlied , Mahomets  Gesang,  Grenzen  der  Menschheit,  Das 
Göttliche,  Proömion,  Weltseele,  Eins  und  Alles,  Vermächtnis , 
Wiederfinden , and  Selige  Sehnsucht,  the  crown  and  type  of  all. 

Less  striking  is  the  inwardness  which  we  observe  in  his 
narrative  poems.  When  the  poet  rises  above  the  common 
bailad  monger,  he  cannot  avoid  taking  an  interest  in  the 
events  portrayed,  and  this  interest  must  show  itself.  As 
a matter  of  fact  most  poets  make  a point  of  telling  how  they 
themselves  are  affected.  Yet  how  few  of  them  communicate 
to  us  the  feeling  of  warmth  that  Goethe’s  ballads  radiate! 
Where  is  the  ballad  that  could  be  compared,  even  in  inward- 
ness, with  Die  Braut  von  Korinth  or  Der  Gott  und  die  Bajadere ? 

But,  let  us  add,  what  other  poet  has  his  wTarmth  and  his 
felicity  in  expressing  it?  He  did  not  look  upon  his  subjects 
as  mere  fables  that  could  be  told  effectively  in  stanzas; 
he  considered  them,  rather,  vessels  to  carry  heart-stirring 
experiences. 

Heidenröslein  and  Der  untreue  Knabe  ,8  for  example, — both 
imitations  of  folk-songs  which  he  had  collected  for  Herder 
in  Alsatia — are  faithful  reflections  of  his  feelings  at  his  parting 
from  Friederike;  Der  Fischer  (1778)  is  the  reflection  of  a 
genuine  Wertherian  longing,  which  he  had  certainly  more 
than  once  feit,  to  seek  in  the  cool  water,  mirroring  the  sky,  a 
way  of  escape  from  a suffocating  earthly  existence  to  true 
life.  Gefunden  (August  26,  1813)  clothes  his  first  meeting  with 
Christiane  in  the  intimate  charm  of  an  innocent  allegory; 
Alexis  und  Dora  (1796)  brings  to  us  a stränge  echo  of  the 
tender  reciprocal  affection  between  him  and  the  beautiful 
Milanese,  which,  as  in  the  poem,  first  revealed  itself  at  the 
moment  of  parting.  Der  Sänger  (1783),  which  paints  a min- 
strel  at  the  court  of  a king,  lends  typical  form  to  the  author’s 
own  most  peculiar  feelings  and  experiences. 

There  was  a twofold  element  of  personal  experience  in 
the  background  of  Die  Braut  von  Korinth.  The  more  im- 
mediate  background  was  drawn  from  the  contrast  between 
the  poet  and  the  pious  circles  “on  the  coast  of  the  Baltic 
Sea” — the  Stolbergs  in  Eutin,  the  Reimarus  “tea  circle" 


£be  X^ric  poet 


63 


in  Hamburg,  and  their  following,  among  whom  were  num- 
bered  Fritz  Jacobi  and  Schlosser.  These  circles  included, 
as  we  see,  some  of  the  poet’s  closest  friends  and  relatives. 
Not  long  before  the  writing  of  the  poem  Goethe  had  been 
characterised  by  them  as  a heathen,  and,  besides,  in  Eutin 
his  Wilhelm  Meister  had  been  bumed  as  an  immoral  book. 
The  other  element  of  personal  experience  which  he  had  feit 
keenly  in  recent  years  was  the  result  of  that  most  narrow- 
minded  and  destructive  of  all  delusions,  infectious  misbelief. 
A wrong  understanding  of  him  had  sprung  up  with  the 
Herders  and  Frau  von  Stein,  and  the  thousand-fold  “ love 
and  fidelity”  which  he  had  shown  them  “was  tom  up  by 
the  roots  like  a noisome  weed.” 

The  general  contrast  between  his  belief  and  that  of  the 
“Christians”  who  engaged  in  the  feud  against  him  bore 
further  fruit  in  Die  erste  Walpurgisnacht.  He  himself  is 
that  “ one  of  the  Druids  ” who  regrets  that  he  is  forced  to  sing 
the  praises  of  the  All-father  by  night,  and  who  speaks  to 
himself  the  consoling  words : 

®odj  ift  eg  Jag, 

©obalb  man  mag 

©in  retneg  ^erg  Dir  bringen.* 

The  third  poem  that  treats  of  this  contrast,  Gross  ist  die 
Diana  der  Epheser,  grew  out  of  his  defence  against  Jacobi’s 
essay  Von  den  göttlichen  Dingen  und  ihrer  Offenbarung 
(1811). 

It  is  easy  to  see  what  personal  experiences  occasioned  the 
writing  of  Der  Gott  und  die  Bajadere.  Behind  the  poetic 
veil  is  Goethe’s  relation  to  Christiane,  who  was  considered 
the  baj adere  by  Weimar  society,  the  “ chorus  without  mercy 
which  increased  her  heart’s  distress.”  Another  poem  based 
on  Indian  legends  and  conceptions,  the  Paria,  finished  for  the 
most  part  in  the  summer  of  1816,  seems  intended  to  por- 
tray  a possible  tragic  climax  in  the  fate  of  Marianne  von 

* So  soon  ’t  is  day 
As  thee  we  may 
A heart  unsullied  offer. 


64 


$be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


Willemer,*  who,  like  the  wife  of  the  Brahman,  at  the  sight 
of  the  divine  youth,  feit  in  Goethe’ s presence,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  her  “inner  being  stirred  to  its  deepest 
depths.  ’ ’ Goethe  wrote  the  poem  for  the  purpose  of  strength- 
ening  himself  in  his  determination  not  to  see  her  again,  just 
as  on  a previous  occasion  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be 
affected  by  the  downfall  of  Egmont. 

In  addition  to  its  Observation  of  the  world,  Der  Zauber- 
lehrling (1797)  has  more  than  one  personal  experience  as  a 
basis.  In  this  poem  Goethe  is  just  as  much  the  apprentice, 
who  thoughtlessly  calls  up  the  spirits,  as  the  master,  who 
by  his  power  over  them  forces  them  to  retire  into  a comer. 
He  himself  had  let  loose  the  Storm  and  Stress  in  Strasburg, 
Frankfort,  and  Weimar,  and  even  now  observed  how  from 
the  same  seed  the  rampant  growth  of  romanticism  was 
shooting  up  with  the  unrestraint  of  insolent  youth.  As 
twenty  years  before,  so  now  he  was  obliged  to  summon  all 
his  powers  as  a master  in  order  to  free  himself  from  these 
spirits  encamped  about  him  and  to  drive  them  back  into 
their  proper  bounds.  As  indicated  in  Die  Lehrjahre,  the 
poem  is  in  still  another  sense  a symbolic  picture  of  his  own 
experiences.  Reading,  reflection,  and  life  created  in  the 
fancy  of  the  apprentice  Goethe  a thousand  forms  which  sur- 
rounded  him,  alluring  and  urging  him,  and  awakened  “ a thou- 
sand emotions  and  capabilities  ” — individual  spirits  in  his 
great  spirit,  which  longed  passionately  for  deliverance  and 
manifestation.  His  only  means  of  rescuing  himself  from  this 
overcrowded  state  wras  by  his  magic  word,  “ limitation.” 
He  was  apprentice  and  master  in  one  person. 

We  shall  not  seek  further  to  point  out  the  personal  ele- 
ments  contained  in  Goethe’ s ballads.  They  are  not  always 
clearly  distinguishable.  But  from  the  indications  which  the 
poet  has  given  us  there  can  be  but  few  of  his  ballads  which 
do  not  embody  some  of  his  experiences.  WTe  do  not  doubt, 
for  example,  that  even  Der  König  in  Thule  has  some  Connec- 
tion with  Goethe’s  life,  or,  to  speak  more  specifically,  with 
the  tragic  idyll  of  Sesenheim.  This  will  help  us  to  under- 

* Cf.  Burdach,  in  G ].,  xvii.,  28. 


65 


ftbe  Xpric  poet 

stand  how,  in  his  autobiography,  he  was  able  to  say  of  this 
poem  and  of  Der  untreue  Knabe  that  at  the  time  when  he 
recited  them  to  Fritz  Jacobi,  in  the  summer  of  1774,  they 
were  still  bound  to  his  heart  and  rarely  crossed  his  lips,  and 
then  only  to  very  congenial  friends. 

If  we  inquire  further  into  the  elements  of  the  beauty  of 
Goethe’s  poems  we  discover  his  many  charms  in  the  field  of 
contrast.  We  have  in  mind  here  only  the  contrast  in  subject- 
matter,  not  the  contrast  which  has  its  source  in  the  art  of 
presentation.  This  contrast  in  subject-matter  is  frequently 
lacking  in  other  poets,  and  even  in  folk-songs.  As  a usual 
thing  only  one  tone  is  strack,  such  as  sorrow,  joy,  repose, 
comfort,  longing,  hope,  and  the  like,  and  that  tone  runs  with 
varying  strength  through  the  whole  poem.  In  Goethe, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  most  diverse  tones  swell  in  glorious 
contrast  with  one  another:  repose  and  passion,  joy  and  sor- 
row, happiness  and  unhappiness,  hate  and  love,  renunciation 
and  desire,  guilt  and  innocence,  guilt  and  atonement,  dismay 
and  courage,  indolence  and  energetic  action,  dream  and 
reality,  reason  and  fancy,  impulse  toward  life  and  the  power 
of  fate,  art  and  life,  mastership  and  dilettanteism,  ingenuous- 
ness  and  sentimentality,  nature  and  civilisation,  narrowness 
and  world-broadness,  youth  and  old  age,  life  and  death,  the 
present  and  the  past,  Christianity  and  heathenism,  God  and 
man,  God  and  the  world,  and  all  the  other  contrasts  that  stir 
the  breast  of  man. 

Very  often  several  contrasts  are  introduced,  giving  the 
poem  a stronger  pulse  and  a deeper  significance.  To  men- 
tion  but  a few  instances,  in  Die  Braut  von  Korinth,  for  ex- 
ample,  we  find  Christianity  and  heathenism,  the  happiness  of 
love  and  the  sorrow  of  love,  renunciation  and  desire,  life  and 
death ; in  Der  Wandrer,  nature  and  civilisation,  ingenuousness 
and  sentimentality,  contentment  in  narrow  surroundings  and 
longing  to  go  out  into  the  wide  world ; and  in  number  fifteen 
of  the  Römische  Elegien,  North  and  South,  past  and  present 
individual  fate  and  world  history, — wonderfully  combined 
into  symphonies,  at  times  thrilling,  at  times  exalting,  and 
at  other  times  charming,  serious,  and  merry.  Even  in 

VOL.  III. — 5. 


66 


Zbe  OLife  of  (Boetbe 


the  smallest  poem  there  is  not  infrequently  more  than  one 
effektive  contrast.  In  the  above-mentioned  short  quatrain, 
which  is  supposed  to  be  spoken  by  Suleika,  we  have  a mo- 
ment  and  etemity,  an  individual  and  God,  youth  and  old 
age.  At  times  the  contrast  is  only  suggested,  as  in  the  song 
Über  allen  Gipfeln  ist  Ruh  (September  6,  1780),  the  next  to 
the  last  line  of  which,  in  the  words  “ wait”  and  “ ere  long,  ” 
gives  us  the  first  intimation  that  it  is  an  agitated  heart  that 
is  singing  itself  to  rest. 

These  contrasts  stand  out  with  especial  beauty  and 
clearness  when  they  find  parallels  in  the  natural  scenery 
of  the  background.  Such  is  the  case  in  Schweizer  alpe,  in 
which  the  counterpart  of  youth  appears  as  the  brown  summit 
of  the  mountain,  and  that  of  old  age  as  the  snow-capped 
peak.  It  is  also  true  of  Euphrosyne,  in  which  the  night  ac- 
companies  the  lamentation  for  the  dead,  and  the  moming 
announces  new  life ; and  of  Dem  auf  gehenden  V ollmonde  (Dom- 
burg, 1828),  in  which  grief  and  bliss  altemate  with  the  cloud- 
obscured  and  the  brightly  shining  moon. 

We  have  chosen  the  word  “symphonies”  to  characterise 
the  manner  in  which  these  contrasts  are  treated,  because 
the  poet  does  not  leave  us  in  the  midst  of  contrasts,  nor 
does  he  allow  the  contrasting  elements  to  exclude  each  other ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  makes  them  Supplement  each  other.  In 
a word,  he  resolves  the  apparent  discords  of  the  wTorld  and 
his  own  personality  into  harmony.  He  views  things  from 
a standpoint  that  is  high  enough  to  enable  him  to  recognise 
the  innocence  in  guilt,  the  happiness  in  sorrow,  the  pain  in 
happiness,  the  plenty  in  solitude,  the  wealth  in  simplicity, 
the  gain  in  renunciation,  the  Salvation  in  sin,  and  to  see  the 
harmony  of  hate  and  love,  Separation  and  reunion,  life  and 
death,  God  and  the  world,  and  of  a thousand  other  opposites. 
So  he  speaks  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  when  he  says, 
in  Die  Lehrjahre,  that  the  poet  has  received  from  nature  the 
gift  of  keeping  in  harmony  with  many,  often  incompatible, 
things ; that  while  the  man  of  the  world  either  drags  out  his 
days  in  life-sapping  melancholyover  some  great  loss,  or  meets 
his  fate  with  unrestrained  joy,  that  is  to  say,  always  moves 


Gbe  X^ric  poet  6; 

at  one  of  the  opposing  extremes,  the  poet’s  soul,  like  the 
revolving  sun,  advances  from  night  to  day  and  with  easy 
transitions  attunes  his  harp  to  joy  and  sorrow,  that  is, 
combines  opposites  in  harmony.  In  the  “ Prelude  ” to  Faust 
it  is  said  still  more  clearly  of  the  poet : 

Sßoburd)  befiegt  et  jebeg  Element? 

3ft  es  ber  Gsinflang  tiidjt,  bet  au£  bem  93ufen  bringt, 

Unb  in  fein^erg  bie  SBelt  guriicfe  fdjlingt  ? 

2öeun  bie  91atur  be$  habend  ero’ge  Sänge, 

©Icidjgültig  breljenb,  auf  bie  Spinbci  groingt, 

SBenn  aller  Sßefen  unl)armon’fd)e  2J?enge 
S5erbrieplid)  burdjeinanber  füngtj 
äßet  teilt  bie  fliejienb  immer  gleiche  Steife 
SBelebenb  ab,  bafifie  fid)  rl)t)tf)mifd)  regt? 

3Ber  ruft  baS  ©ingelne  gur  allgemeinen  SSBeilfe, 

2Bo  eö  in  tjerrlic^en  2Iccorben  fdjlägt?* 

If  we  make  search  for  the  deepest  foundation  of  this  lofty 
gift  of  the  poet,  let  us  say  at  once,  of  the  poet  Goethe,  it  is  the 
same  foundation  upon  which  the  pure  truth  of  his  poetry 
rests,  that  sacred  power  of  viewing  the  world  as  a uniform, 
divine  whole,  in  which  every  tone,  every  colour  is  a necessary 
element,  an  element  which  needs  only  to  be  grasped  in  its 
general  significance,  in  its  in  ward  relation  to  the  other  ele- 
ments,  in  order  to  blend  in  glorious  consonance.  By  means 
of  this  point  of  view  the  poet  transforms  the  desolation  and 
confusion  of  chaos  into  a living,  beautifully  ordered  cosmos. 
Hence  the  great  serenity  and  mild,  warm  splendour  which 
rest  upon  his  poems.  And  at  the  same  time  that  in  these 
poems  he  conquers  grief,  sorrow,  and  pain,  by  means  of  the 

* Whereby  doth  he  each  element  subdue? 

Is  ’t  not  the  harmony  which  from  his  bosom  wells 
And  into  his  embrace  the  world  compels  ? 

When  nature’s  spindle  with  unchecked  gyration 
Takes  up  her  even  thread  through  weary  years, 

When  the  discordant  tones  of  all  creation 
With  fretting  jangle  fill  the  spirit’s  ears, 

Who  gives  this  changeless  order  animation, 

Transforming  it  into  a rhythmic  dance? 

Who  calls  particulars  to  general  ordination, 

Where  they  may  blend  in  glorious  consonance? 


68 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


sun  which  shines  for  him,  he  achieves  a like  victory  in  our 
hearts.  Heine,  who  is  so  unlike  him  and  who  very  often 
dismisses  us  with  harsh  discords,  has  beautifully  and  aptly 
declared,  in  Atta  Troll,  that  serenity  is  the  most  genuine 
characteristic  of  our  poet : 

3d)  erfannte  unfern  Sßolfgang 
Sin  bem  beitem  ©lang  ber  Slugen.* 

But  for  his  art  of  representation,  much  of  the  beauty, 
sublimity,  and  depth  of  Goethe’s  poems  would  not  be  fully 
realised.  Apart  from  minor  matters,  this  art  shows  itself 
in  his  cleverness  in  laying  bare  the  emotions  of  the  human 
heart,  in  the  atmosphere  of  feeling  with  which  he  surrounds 
the  whole  and  all  the  parts,  in  the  delicacy  of  his  lines  and 
colours,  which  are  free  from  angularity  and  harshness,  in 
his  skill  in  drawing  contrasts  so  as  to  bring  out  each  indi- 
vidual colour  more  forcibly,  in  the  animated  brevity  with 
which  situations  open  and  develop,  and  in  the  sure  object  - 
ivity  of  the  pictures  unfolding  before  us. 

Let  us  tarry  a moment  to  consider  this  last  point.  There 
is  a twofold  objectivity.  The  one  öfters  us  plain,  solid 
facts  which  our  understanding  can  easily  comprehend  in 
their  outward  connection;  this  characterises,  for  example, 
all  the  poems  of  Uhland.  The  other  brings  these  facts 
before  us  at  the  same  time  in  bodily  form,  so  that  our  eye  can 
grasp  them.  Goethe’s  poems  possess  both  kinds,  although 
he  was  in  danger  of  losing  the  second  along  with  the  first.  In 
danger,  not  on  account  of  too  great  brevity,  as  in  the  Ballade 
vom  vertriebenen  und  zurückkehrenden  Grafen,  or  on  account 
of  too  close  a connection  with  the  actual  experience,  as  in  the 
Harzreise  im  Winter,  but  on  account  of  his  inclination  to 
symbolism.  Among  the  poets  Goethe  is  perhaps  the  great- 
est  Symbolist  that  ever  lived.  Inasmuch  as  every  detail  in 
his  life,  in  nature,  in  history,  appeared  to  him  symbolical. 
standing  for  something  eise,  broader,  higher,  and  more  gen- 
eral, he  gave  a symbolic  significance  even  to  those  of  his 
poems  which  were  only  a mirror  of  his  inner  seif.  Indeed 

* By  his  eyes’  serenest  splendour 
I our  Wolfgang  recognised. 


69 


Gbe  X^ric  fl>oet 

it  may  be  said  that  he  was  not  moved  to  transform  material 
into  poetry  until  it  was  found  to  be  capable  of  a deeper, 
symbolical  significance.  This  is  true  even  of  his  subjective 
poems,  which  apparently  express  only  a definite  inner 
state.  He  was  justified  in  saying  of  them  that  there  dwelt 
within  each  of  them  the  kernel  of  a more  or  less  significant 
fruit.  This  inclination  to  symbolise  found,  however,  a 
most  happy  counterpoise  in  his  need  of  definite,  clear  visu- 
alisation ; and  whereas  with  other  symbolists  a modest  sym- 
bolic  content  dissolves  all  their  poetry  into  pale,  wavering, 
airy  visions,  his  poetry,  even  that  of  most  profound  sig- 
nificance, is  marked  by  lustrous  colours  and  most  firm 
proportions. 

While  with  other  symbolists  the  action  pales  away  to 
allegory,  and  without  an  understanding  of  the  allegory  is 
devoid  of  interest,  with  Goethe  it  has  a wholly  independent 
significance  and  stirs  our  minds  and  spirits  in  a high  degree, 
even  though  we  may  not  grasp  the  symbolic  meaning.  The 
reason  for  this  difference  is  easy  to  discover.  Others  acquire 
their  ideas  in  an  abstract,  deductive  way,  Goethe  acquires 
his  in  a concrete,  inductive  way.  The  more  clearly  he  saw 
the  thing  itself,  the  more  clearly  was  revealed  to  him  the 
spiritual  significance  contained  in  it;  and  as  the  writing  of 
poetry  was  to  him  an  act  in  which  he  strove  after  elucida- 
tion,  he  sought  all  the  more  earnestly  to  represent  things  in 
his  poetry  as  clearly  as  possible.  The  older  he  grew  the 
more  he  became  convinced  of  the  inadequacy  of  words  as  a 
means  of  clear  expression.  “ I should  like  to  give  up  en- 
tirely  the  habit  of  speaking,”  he  once  said  in  later  years. 
“ There  is  something  about  it  that  is  useless,  idle,  foppish. 

I should  like  to  speak  like  nature,  altogether  in 
drawings.”  But  he  underestimated  the  power  of  his  words. 
The  word  under  his  hand  is  marvellously  transformed  into 
line,  colour,  body,  and  picture,  so  that  many  a painter  and 
sculptor  might  envy  him  such  “words”  as  are  contained,  for 
example,  in  Mignon.  The  demand  which  he  makes  of  the 
poet,  “ Speak  not,  artist,  paint:  be  thy  poem  but  a breath!” 
he  knew  how  gloriously  to  fulfil.  This  was  most  conspic- 


7 o 


Zbe  %if e of  (Boetbe 


uously  true  in  the  realm  of  nature,  whose  son,  friend,  lover  he 
early  called  himself,  and  whose  characteristic  features,  whose 
most  secret  life  and  activity,  he  saw  and  feit.  He  was  able  to 
commune  with  her  understandingly,  whether  he  drew  near 
to  her  in  field  or  garden,  in  forest  or  cave,  in  the  fair  valley  or 
on  snow-capped  peaks.  “ All  nature,  every  blade  of  grass, 
speaks  to  him.” 

We  have  often  had  occasion  to  admire  his  nature  pictures, 
but  they  are  most  deserving  of  admiration  in  his  lyrics, 
where  the  narrowness  of  the  space  challenged  him  to  achieve 
the  highest  results  with  the  most  limited  means.  With  a 
few  strokes,  often  with  a single  stroke  (“Fillest  bush  and 
vale  again,  still  with  misty  light  ”) , he  sketches  sky  and  earth, 
sea  and  mountains,  brook  and  river,  meadow  and  forest,  in 
the  many  moods  of  the  atmosphere,  the  day,  and  the  season, 
so  clearly  that  they  stand  in  palpable  form  before  us.  We 
shall  not  conjure  up  these  pictures  here;  they  stand  out 
vividly  before  the  eyes  of  everybody  who  knows  Goethe. 
Let  us  eite  only  a few  examples  of  descriptions  of  the  human 
body,  to  which  less  attention  is  ordinarily  paid.  In  Hans 
Sachsens  poetische  Sendung  he  gives  this  description  of  the 
“fair  maiden”: 

Sftit  abgefenftem  $aupt  unb  2tug’ 

©ijjf  $ unter  einem  Apfelbaum 
Unb  [pikt  bie  üBelt  ringe.  um  fid)  faum, 

$at  9to[en  in  ibr’n  Scfjop  geppüdft 

©o  [int  fie  in  [ich  felbj't  geneigt. 

3n  ^offnungbfüH’  ibr  Su[en  [teigt.* 

Who  eise  ever  painted  such  a speaking  picture  of  the  quiet 
dreaming  of  a budding  maiden? 

In  Der  Besuch  we  have  a realistic  portrait-,  that  of  the 

* With  stooping  head  and  downeast  eye 
She  sits  beneath  an  apple  tree, 

Doth  scarce  the  worid  about  her  see, 

Hath  roses  plucked  into  her  lap. 

Thus  sits  she  in  herseif  retired, 

Her  bosom  heaves  with  hope  inspired. 


ftbe  %£üc  fl>oet  71 

beloved  who  has  fallen  asleep  on  the  sofa  in  the  midst  of  her 
work: 

©eftridfte  mit  ben  fabeln  ritzte 
Bmifchen  ben  gefaltnen  garten  §änben; 

‘Sa  betrachtet'  id)  ben  frönen  grieben, 

®er  auf  ifyren  Slugenlibern  rut)te : 

tlnb  bie  Unfdjulb  eines  guten  £ergen§ 

Siegte  fid)  imSttfen  l)in  unb  roieber. 

Sebeö  ihrer  ©lieber  lag  gefällig 
Slufgelöft  bont fußen  ©ötterbalfam.* 

In  Der  Wandrer  he  says  of  the  sleeping  child : 

2Bie’§  in  l)immli|cl)er  ©efunbljeit 
©djroimmenb  ruljig  atmet!  f 

In  Vollmondnacht  he  paints  the  moving  of  lips  which 
long  for  a kiss  and  yet  only  in  secret,  and  half-consciously, 
breathe  their  longing : 

§errin,  fag’,  n>a§  Ijeifit  ba§  f^tiiftern ? 

2Baö  beroegt  bir  leiö  bie  Sippen? 

ßifpelft  immer  bor  bid)  l)in, 
ßieblidfer  alä  3B eineö  Stippen! 

‘Senfftbu  beincn  99tunbgefd)tthftern 
9loch  ein  sf}ärd)cn  Ijerjugieljn  ? t 

* And  the  knitting,  with  the  needles,  rested 
’Twixt  her  tender  hands  together  folded; 

Then  T mused  upon  the  peace  so  lovely 
Which  upon  her  slumb’ring  eyelids  rested: 

And  her  good  heart’s  innocence  unspotted 
Now  and  then  did  stir  within  her  bosom. 

All  her  limbs  most  gracefully  reposing 
Lay  relaxed  with  heaven’s  sweetest  balsam. 
t Swimming  in  heaven-showered  health, 

How  calmly  he  breathes! 
t In  thy  whispers,  pray,  what  meaning? 

What  so  softly  art  thou  lipping? 

Thy  half-uttered  lispings  are 
Lovelier  than  nectar  sipping! 


72 


Zbe  %if e of  (Soetbe 


In  Die  Braut  von  Korinth  he  characterises  a most  fervent 
embrace  of  the  lovers  with  the  three  words : 

3Bed)fcl  hauch  unb  Äujj! 
ßiebesöberflup !  *  * 

We  shall  get  a better  conception  of  the  various  powers  of 
Goethe’s  art  of  representation  if,  instead  of  considering  them 
one  at  a time  and  apart  from  the  organic  Connections  in 
which  they  belong,  we  study  the  living  impression  of  the 
Operation  of  all  combined.  Let  us  choose  for  this  purpose 
the  poem  Auf  dem  See,  which,  like  Mignon’s  Kennst  du  das 
Land,  is  only  a song  of  moods,  and  offers  but  little  in  the 
way  of  thought  or  action: 

Unb  frifdje  iRahrung,  neues  Slut 
©aug'  id)  aus  freier  SBelt: 

SBSie  ift  Dlatur  fo  Ijolb  unb  gut, 

Die  mid)  am  Sufen  halt! 

Die  Sßelle  roieget  unfern  Äa^n 
3m  IRubertaft  hinauf, 

Unb  Serge,  roolfig  himmelan, 
begegnen  unferm  Sauf. 

Slug’,  mein  2Iug’,  tuaS  finfft  bu  nieber? 

©olbnc  Dräurne,  fommt  ihr  trnebcr? 

SBeg,  bu  Jraum  ! fo  golb  bu  bift: 

§ier  and)  Sieb’  itnb  Beben  ift. 

Stuf  ber  2BeHe  blinfen 
Daufenb  fcbroebenbe  ©terne, 

SBeidje  Diebel  trinfen 
ÜRingS  bie  türmenbe  gerne; 

Slorgenroinb  umflügelt 
‘Die  befd)attete  Sucht, 

Unb  im  ©ee  befpiegelt 
©id)  bie  reifenbe  grud)t. 


To  thy  pair  of  lips  art  weening 
To  attract  a kindred  pair? 

* Mingled  breath  and  kiss  ! 
Flood  of  lovers’  bliss  ! 


Gbe  Xpric  poet 


73 


It  begins  in  a very  lively  and  striking  way  with  the  word 
“and.”  “And  I fresh  nurture  and  new  blood  Draw  from  the 
free  world  blest.”  By  this  “ and  ” we  are  transported  imme- 
diately  into  the  middle  of  the  Situation.  From  a chain  of 
emotions  one  of  the  chief  emotions  is  selected.  The  poet  is 
in  a blessed  free  world.  He  is  drawing  from  nature  new 
blood.  A contrasting  motive  is  suggested.  His  life’s  nur- 
ture had  ceased  to  flow.  “ How  dear  is  nature  and  how  good ! 
Who  holds  me  to  her  breast.”  We  discover  in  silent  contrast 
with  nature  the  people  on  whose  bosoms  he  has  suffered,  and 
feel  that  the  free  world  Stands  here  as  the  contrast,  not  only 
of  the  narrowness  of  the  city,  but  also  of  some  inward  con- 
straint.  The  “free  world”  in  which  he  now  finds  himself  is 
more  closely  indicated.  “ Upstream  our  boat  by  waves  is 
tossed  To  oar  blades’  rhythmic  beat,  And  cloud-capped 
peaks, in  heaven  lost,  Our  onward  voyage  meet.”  He  is  on  the 
water,  the  water  is  bordered  by  mountains,  the  unusual  height 
of  which  is  shown  by  the  word  “cloud-capped,”  and  still  more 
by  “in  heaven  lost.”  There  is  hardly  need  of  anything 
more  to  teil  us  that  we  are  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps.  The 
landscape  is  painted  in  its  main  outlines.  But  we  receive 
a further  bit  of  detail.  The  boat  is  tossed  by  waves,  we  are 
told.  So  the  water  must  be  agitated.  Its  agitation  strength- 
ens  our  impression  of  the  freshness  of  nature  which  affects 
the  poet.  The  boat  is  rocked  up-stream.  The  word  “up- 
stream” is  not  chosen  capriciously,  but  as  a pregnant  form 
of  expression.  We  must  be  on  a river  or  on  a lake  through 
which  a river  flows,  and  we  must  be  rowing  up-stream.  Fur- 
thermore  the  boat  is  called  “ our  boat.”  So  the  poet  is  not 
alone.  By  means  of  the  description  of  the  landscape  new 
points  of  contrast  are  interspersed,  which  arouse  our  fancy 
in  a pleasing  way.  In  external  nature  we  find  water  and 
mountains,  the  lowland  and  the  height,  agitation  and  repose. 
Then  comes  a dramatic  interruption.  The  journey  is  no 
longer  the  thing  described.  The  eye  of  the  poet  is  absorbed 
with  introspection.  The  change  finds  its  resonance  in  a 
change  of  rhythm.  “ Eye,  mine  eye,  art  backward  yeaming? 
Golden  dreams,  are  ye  returning?”  What  kind  of  dreams 


74 


£be  Xife  of  0oetbe 


are  they?  As  they  are  golden,  and  as  they  come  over  him 
with  great  power  in  the  midst  of  a merry  boating  party,  they 
can  hardly  be  anything  but  love  dreams.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
their  golden  gleam,  they  must  pain  him,  for  he  tums  them 
away.  “Out!  thou  dream,  though  gold  thou  be.”  Our 
suspicion  that  he  has  been  suffering  from  moral  constraint 
is  now  confirmed,  “Here  are  love  and  life  forme.”  What 
the  “our”  above  suggested  is  now  more  definitely  shown. 
The  poet  is  in  Company,  in  the  Company  of  some  one  dear  to 
him.  But  it  can  hardly  be  a new  sweetheart.  The  dreams 
of  his  forsaken  beloved  would  not  have  been  so  golden,  and 
his  thoughts  of  a new  love  would  not  have  expressed  them- 
selves  so  briefly,  in  this  single  word.  It  is  only  a Company 
of  friends.  A new  turn,  and  we  come  back  again  to  outward 
things,  to  nature;  but,  as  the  word  “life”  affords  a transi- 
tion,  the  metre  is  only  slightly  varied.  Over  against  the 
golden  dream  is  set  golden  friendship,  and  now  a further  con- 
trast  is  drawn  with  the  golden  landscape,  which  greets  his 
eyes.  “ On  the  wave  are  blinking  Myriad  starry  lights.”  The 
landscape  glistens  in  the  bright  sunshine,  which  could  not 
be  pictured  to  us  in  a more  exquisite  and  more  impressive 
way  than  by  this  short  stroke.  “ Myriad  starry  lights.”  It 
must  be  a broad  body  of  water,  a lake,  upon  which  the  poet 
is  rocking.  Once  more  the  great  mountain-background  is 
painted  in  a daring  way.  It  is  not  quite  the  same  now 
as  a while  ago;  the  clouds  are  no  longer  so  dense.  “Soft 
white  mists  are  drinking  Distant  towering  heights.”  “Tow- 
ering  heights.”  The  impression  of  loftiness  is  supplemented 
by  a conception  of  the  form  of  the  mountains.  “Moming 
breeze  is  flying  Through  the  bay’s  encircling  wood.”  The 
tone  of  the  picture  suggests  the  moming.  The  breeze  blows 
gently  over  the  bay,  softly  stirring  the  trees  along  its  rim. 
The  mention  of  the  bay  indicates  that  we  have  come  near  the 
shore  and  announces  the  approaching  end  of  our  journey 
and  of  the  song,  which  closes  with  a detail  of  the  picture  of 
the  bay:  “ Ripening  grain  is  lying  Mirrored  in  the  flood.” 

The  composition  of  the  whole  third  part  of  the  poem  is 
perfectly  objective,  being  accompanied  by  no  expression  of 


£be  %\>ric  Jpoet 


75 


mood,  and  yet  we  can  feel  the  author’s  mood  clearly.  By 
merely  returning  to  the  landscape  he  quiets  the  inward  com- 
motion  which  the  second  part  had  aroused,  and  the  last  stroke 
in  the  picture,  by  a most  happy  turn,  brings  even  the  out- 
ward movement  to  complete  repose.  In  the  sheltered  bay 
the  waves  smooth  down  to  a clear  mirror,  in  which  we  see  a 
most  hopeful  reflection,  the  ripening  grain.  In  this  manner 
deep  symbolism  is  woven  into  the  fugitive  song. 

We  have  sought  to  point  out  the  beauties  of  this  little 
song;  yet,  wrhen  we  take  these  all  together,  they  do  not  ex- 
plain  entirely  the  magical  attraction  which  it  exerts  upon 
us.  There  must  be  something  eise  that  we  have  not  men- 
tioned.  It  is  the  music  of  the  song.  Whence  does  this 
arise?  From  the  rhythm?  That  has  much  to  do  with  it, 
to  be  sure,  for  it  suits  itself  aptly,  in  cadence  and  tempo,  to 
every  change  in  the  content.  The  rhyme  also  contributes 
its  share.  But  that  here,  as  elsewhere  in  Goethe’s  poems 
where  the  music  captivates  us,  it  is  neither  the  rhyme  nor  the 
rhythm  that  is  the  deciding  factor,  may  easily  be  proved 
by  his  prose,  in  which  we  find  passages  of  almost  equal  mu- 
sical  charm.  As  it  might  be  said  of  the  prose  of  his  finished 
literary  Creations  that  it  is  purposely  composed  in  a form 
approximating  verse,  we  refer  the  reader  to  his  letters,  in 
which  artistic  effect  was  the  thing  furthest  from  his  mind. 
They  have  a higher  right  to  be  included  here  than  would 
at  first  appear;  for,  as  a matter  of  fact,  a large  number  of 
Goethe’s  lyrics  are  to  be  found  in  his  letters.  Such  letters 
and  passages  from  letters,  which  might  be  called  poems  in 
prose,  we  have  frequently  interwoven  in  the  course  of  our 
presentation.  Here  we  may  insert  another  letter  from  a 
period  to  which  we  shall  soon  come,  because  its  substance 
throws  accidental  lights  upon  many  of  the  heights  of  Goethe’s 
Spirit,  of  which  we  have  caught  a glimpse  in  our  consideration 
of  his  lyrics. 

The  letter  was  written  in  1823  to  the  far-away  friend  of 
his  youth,  Countess  Auguste  Stolberg,  who  now,  an  old  wo- 
man  with  snow- white  hair,  was  the  widow  of  Count  Bern- 
storff.  After  a silence  of  decades,  being  anxious  about  the 


;6 


Zbe  %ife  of  Goetbe 


Salvation  of  Goethe’s  soul,  she  had  again  taken  up  her  pen 
and,  in  a letter  full  of  touching  sentiment,  but  showing  a sad 
rnisunderstanding  of  his  works  and  his  influence,  had  begged 
him  to  desist  from  earthly  striving  and  to  “ tum  his  eves  and 
his  heart  to  the  eternal.”  To  this  he  answered : 

“To  receive  again  after  so  many  years  a written  token 
of  most  cordial  memory  from  my  earliest  dear  friend,  whom 
in  my  heart  I have  well  known,  though  with  my  eyes  I have 
never  seen,  was  for  me  a most  pleasing  and  most  touching 
experience.  . . . Long  life  means  outliving  very  many 
things:  beloved,  hated,  indifferent  people,  kingdoms,  Capital 
cities,  yea,  forests  and  trees  which  we  have  sown  and  planted 
in  our  youth.  We  outlive  ourselves,  and  yet  are  altogether 
thankful  if  we  still  retain  but  a few  of  our  gifts  of  body  and 
spirit.  All  these  ephemeral  things  we  bear  with  patience, 
and,  if  we  are  but  conscious  every  moment  of  the  eternal, 
we  do  not  suffer  from  the  transitoriness  of  time.  All  my 
life  long  I have  been  honest  with  myself  and  others,  and  in 
all  my  earthly  striving  I have  always  had  my  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  highest  things.  You  and  yours  have  done  the 
same.  Then  let  us  ever  continue  to  work  while  the  da}"  lasts 
for  us.  For  others  a sun  will  also  shine;  they  will  rise  in  its 
strength,  and  a brighter  light  will  meanwhile  illumine  our 
way.  So  let  us  look  into  the  future  undisturbed.  In  our 
Father’s  kingdom  are  many  provinces,  and,  as  he  has  pre- 
pared  for  us  such  a happy  dwelling  in  this  country,  we  shall 
both  surely  be  provided  for  over  there.  Perhaps  we  shall  then 
be  vouchsafed  w-hat  we  have  hitherto  been  denied,  to  know 
each  other  face  to  face  and  the  more  thoroughly  to  love  one 
another.  Remember  me  in  tranquil  fidelity.” 

It  will  not  be  denied  that  this  letter  breathes  soft  music. 
As  it  has  neither  metre  nor  rhyme  we  ask  again,  whence  flow 
the  wonderful,  mysterious  melodies  •which  ring  through 
Goethe’s  poetry  and  so  many  passages  of  his  prose?  Is  it 
perhaps  the  sound  of  the  words  chosen?  One  is  likely  to  be 
greatly  deceived  on  this  point.  How  few  combinations  of 
sound  make  a pleasing  impression  upon  our  ears!  The 
greater  number  are  indifferent,  not  a few  are  discordant. 


Gbe  X^ric  poet 


77 


Let  one  pronounce  to  one’s  seif  one  word  after  another  of 
the  letter  cited,  and  ask  one’s  seif  which  word  has  a pleasing 
sound.  Or  let  one  examine  the  words  of  most  musical  verses 
from  this  point  of  view.  Has  “ Welle , ” has  “ blinken , ” has 
“tausend,”  “ schwebende ,”  “Sterne,”  or  has  “füllest,”  “wie- 
der,” “Busch,”  “ Tal,”  “still,”  “ Bi  ebelglanz”  in  and  of  itself 
musical  charm?  Certainly  not.  If  then  it  is  not  the  sound 
of  the  words  that  is  melodious  to  us,  it  is  their  significance, 
the  significance  of  the  individual  words  and  still  more  of 
the  combinations  of  words.  They  produce  conceptions, 
awaken  pictures  and  thoughts  in  us  which  fall  upon  our  ears 
like  lovely  harmonies.  This  is  the  chief  source  of  Goethe’s 
word-music. 

If  we  ask  ourselves  why  it  is  that  Goethe’s  poetry  and 
prose  possess  this  music  in  such  marked  measure,  we  can 
only  repeat  what  has  already  been  said : because  he  possessed 
the  greatest  harmony  of  spirit,  which  arranged  everything  in 
consonance.  This  harmony  of  spirit  is  especially  conspic- 
uous  in  his  lyric  poetry,  as  harmony  of  eye  and  soul.  As  the 
essential  element  of  Goethe’s  language-music  is  of  a purely 
spiritual  or,  we  may  say,  metaphysical  nature,  we  can  un- 
derstand  why  it  is  so  hard  for  musical  composers  to  translate 
it  into  physical  sounds.  Either  they  must  put  like  harmony 
into  their  work  or  they  are  doomed  to  failure.  Goethe’s 
spiritual  harmony  creates  fitting  expression  for  itself  in  its 
language  dress  by  means  of  his  choice  of  words  (strength 
and  gentleness,  sensuous  power  of  expression)  and  word 
cadences,  which  appear  in  his  prose  in  the  rhythmical  sen- 
tence  structure.  In  his  poetry  we  find  the  auxiliary  factors 
of  verse  and  stanza  structure,  frequently  also  rhyme,  but 
seldom  alliteration. 

The  great  variety  of  forms  of  verse  and  stanzas  which 
Goethe  employs  almost  equals  the  great  variety  of  motives 
and  moods  which  his  lyrics  reveal.  He  tried  the  most  cur- 
rent forms  which  the  German  literature  from  the  sixteenth 
to  the  eighteenth  Century  had  produced,  then  went  back  to 
the  ancients,  and  from  these  to  the  Romance  literatures,* 

* Ottava  rima,  sonnet,  terza  rima. 


73 


Gbe  %ifc  of  (Boetbe 


finally  exacting  tribute  of  Oriental  rhythms.  But  he  modi- 
fied  freely  all  traditional  and  all  newly  invented  forms  to  suit 
the  genius  of  the  language  and  the  needs  of  the  poem.  He 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  allowing  himself  to  be  fettered 
by  mechanical  forms  and  would  rather  make  what  prosodists 
would  call  bad  verses  and  imperfect  stanzas  and  strophes 
than  do  violence  to  language,  substance,  or  mood.  To  him 
the  form  was  not  a thing  that  could  be  applied  to  the  song  ex- 
temally ; it  was,  rather,  an  inner  necessity,  something  that 
had  grown  out  of  the  nature  of  the  song.  Little  as  a tree 
grows  without  bark  did  a song  growfor  him  without  rhythm. 
“ The  measure  comes  as  though  unconsciously  from  the 
poetic  mood.  If  one  were  to  think  about  it  when  one  com- 
poses  a poem  one  would  go  mad  and  would  produce  nothing 
worth  mentioning”  (to  Eckermann,  April,  1829).  Indeed, 
it  sometimes  happened  that  the  rhythm  was  in  existence 
before  the  text  had  assumed  form.  In  Die  Wander fahre  he 
says,  through  the  mask  of  Wilhelm:  “ It  often  seems  to  me 

as  though  an  invisible  genius  were  whispering  something 
rhythmical  to  me,  so  that  on  my  walks  I always  keep  step 
to  it,  and  at  the  same  time  fancy  I hear  soft  tones  accom- 
panying  some  song,  which  then  comes  to  me  in  one  way  or 
another  and  delights  me.  ” 

For  this  very  reason  his  most  genuine  lyric  poems  can 
be  thought  of  only  in  the  form  in  which  he  has  given  them  to 
us.  We  should  think  we  were  destroying  their  substance 
if  we  were  to  put  them  into  any  other  form. 

Great  as  is  the  wealth  of  forms  and  the  variety  of  motives 
— and  there  are  whole  large  groups,  such  as  the  humorous- 
satirical,  that  we  have  not  been  able  to  touch  upon — never- 
theless  we  have  the  feeling  that  both  might  have  been  greater, 
might  even  have  been  infinite.  We  have  the  feeling  that  gaps 
exist  only  because  of  the  limitation  of  human  life  and  human 
strength.  The  limitations  are  due  partly  to  outward  neces- 
sity, partly  to  chance.  With  the  moods  it  is  different. 
Here  we  recognise  certain  gaps  as  an  inward  necessity,  as  the 
result  of  Goethe’s  spiritual  Organisation.  His  lyric  poetry 
is  lacking  in  genial  intimacy,  pious  humility,  and  the  specifi- 


£be  Xpric  poet 


79 


cally  national  element, — the  latter  in  a twofold  sense.  We 
miss  the  most  familiär  atmosphere  of  the  German  landscape 
and  of  the  modest  life  of  the  common  folk,  as  well  as  political 
and  patriotic  enthusiasm.  These  are  moods  that  have  been 
cultivated  by  Voss,  Hölty,  the  younger  Stolberg,  Uhland, 
Eichendorff,  Schenkendorf,  Mörike,  and  others,  and  have 
been  mirrored  in  the  pictures  of  Ludwig  Richter  and  Schwind. 
These  deficiencies  arise  from  the  reverse  of  Goethe’s  super- 
iorities.  He  was  too  thorough  a cosmopolitan  to  become 
very  much  at  home  in  the  poetry  of  the  nooks  and  comers 
of  the  German  house,  apart  from  all  Connection  with  the  world 
at  large,  as  is  plainly  seen  even  in  Hermann  und  Dorothea; 
his  nature  was  too  thoroughly  filled  with  God  as  a pro- 
ductive energy  for  him  to  find  consolation  and  piety  else- 
where  than  in  himself  and  in  influential  activity;  he  was  a 
power  moving  with  too  fiery  impulses  for  him  to  sink  into 
quiet  dreams  and  fashion  the  genial  musings  of  the  small 
circle  and  the  narrow  individual  into  the  actuating  motives 
of  a poetic  whole.  Hence  nowhere  in  his  songs  do  we  find 
the  perfect,  profound  repose  which  permeates  the  folk-song. 
There  is  always  some  conflict  present,  as  we  have  seen ; and 
we  know  that  his  chief  aim  in  writing  poetry  is  to  resolve 
discords  into  harmony. 

As  in  the  folk-song  we  feel  as  though  the  tree  standing 
in  the  grain  field,  the  brook  gliding  through  the  meadow, 
the  placid  pond  with  its  border  of  rushes,  and  the  dreamy, 
motley  heath  were  singing  to  us  their  real  emotions,  so  in 
Goethe  we  have  the  feeling  that  the  rustling  forest,  the  surg- 
ing  lake,  the  rushing  river,  and  the  field  glistening  with  sun- 
beams  and  echoing  with  the  song  of  the  lark  are  pouring 
forth  their  own  true  melodies. 

To  many  individuals  and  many  moods  the  more  reposeful 
lyrics  in  the  style  of  the  folk-song  will  make  the  stronger 
appeal,  while  others  will  evince  a greater  liking  for  an  art 
which  carries  them  through  a powerful  suspense  and  stirs 
their  deeper  emotions.  And  not  onlythemajority — even  the 
most  capable  and  the  most  mature,  in  the  hours  when  they 
feel  driven  to  rise  above  the  perplexing  confusion  of  every- 


8o 


<Ibe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


day  life  into  the  pure  higher  regions,  will  tum  with  a feeling 
of  longing  to  Goethe’s  poems,  and  when  they  lay  them  down 
it  will  be  with  a consciousness  of  deep  composure,  of  recon- 
ciliation  with  the  world,  and  of  fresh  courage  for  the  strug- 
gle  of  life.  On  retuming  to  them  again  and  again  one  will 
discover  that  they  always  strike  new  chords,  open  new  out- 
looks,  reveal  new  depths.  Thus  as  one  advances  in  years 
they  grow  in  significance.  And  what  they  are  to  the  indi- 
vidual they  are  to  all.  Goethe’s  lyrics  are  to-day  an  incom- 
parably  greater  power  in  the  spiritual  life  of  the  German 
nation  than  they  were  a hundred  years  ago,*  and  it  may 
safely  be  predicted  that  the  hope  of  the  poet  will  yet  be 
realised,  which  he  once  expressed  in  an  eamest  hour: 

SBiffet  nur,  bap  :Did)terroorte 
Utn  be§  ^JarabiefeS  Pforte 
Stnmer  leife  flopfettb  fcbroeben, 

©id)  erbittenb  ero’geg  ßeben.* 

* Softly  words  of  poet  mortal 
Knock  at  Paradise’s  portal, 

Hov’ring  round  that  boume  superaal. 

Still  imploring  life  eternal. 


III 

THE  NATURALIST 

Harmony  between  Goethe’s  Science  and  his  art — His  natural  inclination 
toward  Science — Anatomy  and  osteology — Spinoza’s  influence  on 
Goethe — Consistency  of  nature — Discovery  of  the  intermaxillary 
in  man — The  discovery  rejected  by  most  of  the  leading  anatomists 
of  the  day — Not  fully  recognised  tili  forty  years  later — Botany — - 
Discovery  of  the  metamorphosis  of  plants — Its  significance — Long 
denied  recognition — Idea  of  evolution  contained  in  it— The  genetic 
method — Mastery  of  art  by  study  of  nature — Beauty  the  manifes- 
tation  of  secret  laws  of  nature — Goethe’s  rejection  of  teleology — 
Discovery  of  the  new  Science  of  morphology — The  original  type — 
Goethe  and  Linne — Theory  of  descent — Fundamental  principle  of 
continuity — Struggle  for  existence — Formative  impulse — Mutual 
influence  of  parts — Vertebral  theory  of  the  skull — Geology — Pale- 
ontology — The  ice  age — Meteorology — Meteorological  stations — 
Theory  of  colours — The  law  of  visual  processes — Abklingen — 
Translucent  media — Goethe’s  rejection  of  Newton’s  theory — An- 
tagonistic  colours — Fundamental  law  of  colour  harmony — Polar- 
ity — Goethe’s  history  of  the  theory  of  colours — His  scientific 
lectures — Museums  of  Science — Goethe’s  influence  on  later  scien- 
tists — His  method — His  study  of  nature  and  his  religion — The 
poet  and  the  investigator. 

THE  peculiarity  of  Goethe’s  personality  rests,  in  the 
final  analysis,  upon  the  inward  harmony  between  his 
study  of  nature  and  his  artistic  life.  The  two  direc- 
tions  of  his  Creative  activity,  the  artistic  and  scientific, 
sprang  from  the  same  source,  and  each  permeated  and  deeply 
affected  the  other.  It  is  only  from  this  point  of  view  that 
we  can  understand  why  he  should  have  devoted  more  than 
fifty  years  of  his  precious  life,  with  hardly  an  interruption, 
to  the  science  of  nature. 

Goethe  himself  has  told  us  what  occasioned  him  to  take 
up  his  various  studies  of  nature,  but  we  may  assert  with 

81 


VOL.  III. 6 


82 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


confidence  that  the  occasions  were  merely  accidental,  and  not 
in  themselves  determining  factors ; that,  rather,  he  would  have 
become  a naturalist  under  any  circumstances,  for  he  had 
been  led  to  nature  in  a most  individual  way  and  by  his  own 
most  characteristic  impulses.*  As  he  teils  us  in  Dichtung 
und  Wahrheit ,f  he  had  from  his  earliest  years  feit  an  impulse 
to  investigate  natural  things.  That  this  is  truth  and  not 
poetry  we  know  from  the  fact  that  the  young  friend  of  the 
liberal  arts  and  belles-lettres  and  the  Student  of  law  evi- 
dently  took  the  greatest  interest  in  his  scientific  lectures  while 
at  Leipsic,  and  still  more  so  while  at  Strasburg,  where  he 
studied  anatomy  and  even  attended  a course  of  lectures 
and  the  clinic  on  midwifery.  Animated  by  an  insatiable 
desire  for  knowledge,  he  was  further  encouraged  in  these 
efforts  by  his  associates,  both  in  Leipsic  and  in  Stras- 
burg, who  for  the  most  part  were  students  of  medicine; 
and  he  pursued  these  studies  with  the  greater  industry 
since  he  thought  thereby  to  retain  the  respect  and  confi- 
dence of  his  Strasburg  “society”  which  he  had  immediately 
won  by  his  “stränge  rudimentary  leaming  or,  rather,  his 
overleamedness.  ” 

These*  studies  prepared  him  for  collaboration  on  Lavater’s 
Physiognomische  Fragmente , which  became  a great  determin- 
ing influence  in  his  life  in  so  far  as  it  introduced  him  again  to 
that  field  of  knowledge  in  which  he  was  destined  to  make  dis- 
coveries  of  most  fundamental  importance,  viz.,  anatomy, 
and  more  especially  osteology.  In  physiognomy  Lavater 
urged  the  necessity  of  giving  special  consideration  to  the  solid 
parts  of  the  Organisation,  the  bone  formations,  and  in  his  con- 
tributions  on  animal  skulls  J (1776)  Goethe  expressed  his  con- 
viction  that  one  can  see  most  plainly  by  the  difference  between 
skulls  “ how  the  bones  are  the  foundations  of  formation,  and 
embrace  the  qualities  of  a creature.  The  movable  parts  are 
formed  according  to  them,  or,  to  be  more  exact,  with  them, 
and  perform  their  functions  only  in  so  far  as  the  solid  parts 
permit  them.” 

* Cf.  Campagne  in  Frankreich  (W.,  xxxiii.,  189). 

t First  Part,  fourth  Book  (TF.,  xxvi.,  187). 

J Physiognomische  Fragmente  (TF.,  xxxvii.,  347  /.). 


Gbe  IRaturalist 


83 


@5  ift  nid)i6  in  ber  $aut, 

2Ba$  nicfyt  im  Änocfjen  ift.  * 

Without  these  preliminary  studies  how  would  it  have 
been  possible  for  Goethe,  even  though  he  was  able  to  “ grasp 
much  in  a few  days,”  to  gain  in  a week  such  a mastery 
of  osteology  and  myology  — Loder  began  to  demonstrate 
the  subject  to  him  in  Jena  at  the  end  of  October,  1781 — that 
shortly  afterward  from  a pupil  he  developed  into  a teacher, 
able  to  deliver  lectures  on  the  human  skeleton  at  the  Acad- 
emy of  Drawingif  This  fact  leads  us  to  surmise  that  he 
may  have  been  guided  in  these  studies  chiefly  by  artistic 
interests  and  aims.  But  the  more  profoundly  he  grasped 
the  subject,  and  the  more  familiär  the  knowledge  became 
to  him  through  conversation  and  correspondence  with  the 
most  leamed  anatomists  of  his  day,  the  more  absorbing 
became  his  interest  in  osteology  from  the  scientific  side.  In 
his  understanding  of  this  branch  of  anatomy  he  was  aided 
particularly  by  Merck,  who,  though  but  an  amateur,  possessed 
a rare  knowledge  of  the  subject,  stood  high  in  the  estima- 
tion  of  specialists,  and,  like  Goethe,  was  an  enthusiastic  and 
fortunate  collector  of  specimens.  In  the  spring  of  1784, 
probably  on  the  27th  of  March,  J Goethe  discovered  a little 
bone  in  the  upper  jaw  of  a human  skull  which  scholars 
asserted  did  not  exist  there,  and  this  successful  outcome 
of  his  investigations  gave  him  so  great  joy  that  “it  sent  a 
thrill  through  every  fibre  of  his  being.”  He  wrote  to  Herder : 
“ In  accordance  with  the  teaching  of  the  Gospel  I must  hasten 
as  quickly  as  possible  to  inform  thee  of  the  good  fortune  that 
has  come  to  me.  I have  discovered — neither  gold  nor  silver, 
but  something  that  gives  me  unspeakable  joy— the  os  inter- 
maxillare in  man!” 

Was  the  little  bone  deserving  of  such  enthusiastic  joy? 

* There  is  naught  in  the  skin 
But  in  the  bone  exists. 

The  quotation  is  from  the  beginning  of  the  poem  Typus  ( W .,  iii.,  1 19). 

f According  to  his  diary  the  course  of  lectures  was  finished  on  the  iöth 
of January,  1782. 

X Letter  to  Frau  von  Stein. 


84 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


The  ans  wer  to  the  question  can  be  given,  the  real  value  which 
the  discovery  had  in  Goethe’ s mind  can  be  understood,  only 
when  it  is  considered  in  the  light  of  his  whole  philosophy 
of  nature. 

Back  in  his  Strasburg  days,  or  perhaps  even  earlier, 
Goethe  had  come  under  the  influence  of  Spinoza’s  genius, 
not  as  exerted  directly  by  that  philosopher  himself,  but 
through  the  medium  of  his  spiritual  kinsman  Giordano 
Bruno.  It  was  his  desire,  as  he  says  in  Ephemerides*  not 
to  separate  God  from  nature,  but  rather  to  connect  God  with 
nature.  For  everything  that  is  belongs  necessarily  to  the 
essence  of  God,  as  God  is  the  only  reality  and  embraces 
everything.  Such  pantheistic  inclinations  were  betrayed 
by  him  even  when  a boy,|  in  the  manner  in  which  he  sought 
to  approach  directly  “the  great  God  of  nature”  and  to  wor- 
ship  him  in  nature  and  through  nature.  The  youthful 
priest  built  to  him  an  altar  of  the  best  specimens  of  a Collec- 
tion of  minerals,  “ the  representatives  of  nature,”  and,  after 
sunrise,  kindled  by  means  of  a buming  glass  the  sacrificial 
flames  of  sweet-smelling  incense  tapers. 

When  Goethe,  in  later  years,  gave  an  account  of  his  first 
acquaintance  writh  Spinoza’s  Ethicsl  he  was  unable  to  distin- 
guish  between  what  he  had  gotten  out  of  the  work  and  what 
he  had  read  into  it;  but  after  his  statement  just  referred 
to  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  unity  of  the  All, 
which  he  here  found  expressed  with  most  luminous  penetra- 
tion,  united  with  endless  unselfishness  and  pure  humanity, 
that  from  the  very  first  brought  him  under  the  spell  of  the 
philosopher  who  had  “risen  to  the  summit  of  human 
thought.”  Goethe’s  whole  being  was  filled  with  the  idea,  so 
that  he  here  found  himself  again  in  a “necessary  elective 
affinity,”  and  here  discovered  the  reason  of  his  inclination  to 
fix  his  attention  on  the  thought  of  unity  in  the  whole  of  na- 
ture, in  the  All ; here  he  gained  the  assurance  of  scientific 
consciousness  for  his  own  conception  of  nature: 

* W.,  xxxvii.,  90  f. 

t Cf.  DW.,  first  Part,  first  Book  ( W .,  xxvi.,  63  ff.). 

t Ibid.,  third  Part,  fourteenth  Book  (W.,  xxviii.,  288). 


Gbe  IflaturaUst 


S5 


Unb  eg  ift  ba$  einig  ©ine, 

Id)  oielfad)  offenbart.* 

With  reference  to  the  unity  of  the  universe  the  unity  of 
the  organic  world  is  but  a specific  case.  It  is  one  thing, 
however,  to  grasp  this  idea  in  its  general  application,  and  an 
entirely  different  thing  to  hold  it  fast,  with  the  consistency 
of  nature  herseif,  in  every  individual  phenomenon;  to  follow 
out,  as  it  were,  the  thought  of  nature  everyvvhere,  and  to  be- 
hold  in  every  individual  phenomenon  the  manifestation  of 
her  inherent  law.  Goethe’s  sublime  observations  of  nature 
were  due  to  the  fact  that,  by  virtue  of  his  spiritual  Constitu- 
tion, it  was  impossible  for  him  not  to  behold  the  general  prin- 
ciple  in  the  individual  case.10  Each  of  nature’s  works,  we 
read  in  the  wonderful  hymn  Die  Natur,  has  its  own  peculiar 
being,  each  of  her  phenomena  a most  isolated  conception, 
and  yet  they  all  together  form  a unit.  Hence  Goethe  every- 
where  sought  reality  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  not 
reality  of  phenomena  alone,  but  reality  as  the  fulfilment  of 
law.  This  method  of  observing  nature  sprang  from  his  in- 
nermost being.  In  this  Connection  it  is  always  necessary  to 
go  back  to  Heinroth’s  felicitous  Statement,  that  Goethe’s 
mind  worked  objectively,f  which  means  that  his  thought 
did  not  separate  itself  from  objects.  but  that  “the  elements 
of  objects,  the  observations,  enter  into  it  and  are  most  inti- 
mately  amalgamated  with  it.”  They  become,  as  it  were,  a 
light  within  him,  which  by  reflection  casts  its  rays  out  upon 
objects  and  illuminates  them. 

Slnfdjamt,  tnenn  eö  bir  gelingt, 
eö  erft  ins  Snnre  bringt, 

$)ann  nad)  aufjen  tnieberfebrt, 

SBift  ant  fjerrlidjften  belehrt,  t 

* And  it  is  the  One  eternal, 

Which  so  multiform  appears. 

Quoted  from  the  poem  Parabase  (W.,  iii.,  84),  which,  without  this  title, 
of  course,  formed  the  motto  to  his  Erster  Entwurf  einer  allgemeinen  Ein- 
leitung in  die  vergleichende  Anatomie,  ausgehend  von  der  Osteologie. 

t NS.,  xi.,  58  ( Bedeutende  Fordernis  durch  ein  einziges  geistreiches 

Wort). 

% Observation,  made  aright, 

Floods  at  first  the  soul  with  light; 


86 


Zhe  Xife  of  Goetbe 


As  Goethe,  on  the  basis  of  experience,  has  risen  to  the 
view  that  the  higher  animal  world  up  to  man  was  formed 
according  to  a uniform  type,  it  must  have  seemed  to  him 
impossible  that  nature  should  have  been  untrue  to  herseif 
in  one  point.  He  could  not  be  satisfied  with  the  outward 
impression  which  forces  itself  on  every  man ; he  had  to  take 
seriously  the  idea  that  man  is  most  closely  related  to  the 
animal  world.* * * * §  It  was  only  from  such  a commanding  point 
of  observation  that  it  was  possible  for  his  poetic  eye  to  dis- 
cover  what  men  who  all  their  lives  had  been  practised  and 
experienced  in  such  observations  and  investigations  failed 
to  see.  How  inconceivable  it  is  that  man,  who,  as  we  know, 
has  incisor  teeth,  should  lack  the  bone  in  which  the  roots  of 
the  incisors  are  fixed!  And  yet  the  anatomists  and  distin- 
guished  investigators  of  that  day  not  only  stubbomly  denied 
the  existence  of  the  intermaxillary  bone  in  man;  their  bias 
even  went  so  far  that,  although  they  were  not  conscious  of 
the  general  law  involved,  they  proved  the  consistency  of  the 
skeleton  in  animals  which  had  no  incisors  in  their  upper  jaws 
and  yet  had  the  intermaxillary  bone.  Still  they  would  have 
us  believe  that  man,  wTho  possesses  incisors,  lacks  the  bone 
which  bears  them ! 1 1 

Goethe,  on  the  other  hand,  had  gained  too  deep  an  in- 
sight  into  the  framework  of  the  animal  world  and  into  the 
workings  of  nature  to  have  any  doubts  in  his  mind  as  to  the 
fact  that  nature  never  disregards  her  great  maximsj;  he 
recognised  and  admired  the  clevemess  1 with  which  she, 
although  limited  to  a small  number  of  fundamental  max- 
ims,  is  able  to  produce  the  greatest  variety.  To  him  “the 
great  self-activity  of  nature  § consists  in  the  fact  that  she 


Then  if  this  be  outward  tumed 
Thou  hast  glorious  wisdom  leamed. 

The  above  is  the  last  of  the  three  stanzas  of  the  poem  Genius,  die 
Büste  der  Natur  enthüllend,  which  since  1833  has  appeared  also  among 
the  Zahme  Xenien  (VI). 

* Letter  to  Knebel,  Nov.  17,  1784. 

t Zur  Morphologie  (NS.,  viii.,  122). 

t NS.,  xi.,  165. 

§ NS.,  vi„  327  f. 


£be  IRaturaltet 


3/ 


can  conceal  certain  Organs  and  bring  others  into  greater  evi- 
dence,  and  in  the  same  way  can  do  just  the  opposite  with 
the  one  as  well  as  the  other.  ’ ’ The  intermaxillary  bone  was 
a brilliant  example  by  which  Goethe  was  first  able  to  illus- 
trate  the  great  self-activity  of  nature,  as  he  was  again,  a few 
years  later,  by  the  metamorphosis  of  plants.  In  his  “speci- 
men,”  as  he  called  the  little  artiele  on  the  intermaxillary, 
in  a letter  to  Merck  of  the  i9th  of  December,  1784, — and  in- 
deed  it  is  a specimen,  a model,  of  scientific  presentation — 
he  not  only  proves  the  existence  of  this  bone  in  man  : he  also 
shows  how  its  shape  varies  according  to  the  shape  of  the  ani- 
mal, the  formation  of  the  teeth,  and  the  kind  of  food,  extend- 
ing  forwards  in  some  and  backwards  in  others,  and  finallv 
in  the  noblest  creature,  man,  “ modestly  hiding  itself  for  fear 
of  betraving  animal  voracity.”  * 

Sllfo  beftimmt  bie  ©eftalt  bie  üebeneroeife  beg  £iere$, 

Unb  bie  SBeifejtt  leben,  fie  tüirft  auf  alle  ©eftalten 
3Jfäd)tig  gurücf.  t 

The  discovery  was  not  an  easy  one  to  make;  otherwise 
it  would  not  have  remained  a moot  question  for  centuries. 
The  difficulty  of  recognising  the  real  truth  lay  in  the  fact 
that  in  full-grown  skulls  the  bone  is  completely  grown  to- 
gether  with  adjacent  bones,  and  it  is  only  in  young  speci- 
mens  that  the  attentive  observer  is  able  to  see  sutures  along 
the  side.  Goethe  arrived  at  his  discovery  by  the  comparison 
of  animal  and  human  skulls  of  different  ages,  and  this 
method  of  comparison,  which,  instead  of  confining  itself  to 
the  exterior,  enters  into  the  structure  and  contexture  of  the 
forms  under  investigation,  is  a further  feature  of  the  dis- 
covery that  is  of  fundamental  importance.  The  bone  could 
not  be  wanting;  it  had  to  be  present;  it  was  required  to 

* NS.,  viii.,  94  and  120. 

t Thus  by  the  animal’s  form  is  its  manner  of  living  determined; 
Likewise  the  manner  of  life  affecteth  everv  creature, 

Moulding  its  form. 

The  above  lines  are  quoted  from  the  poem  Metamorphose  der  Tiere 
(W.,  iii.,  90);  the  poem  also  appears  under  the  title  A0POI2MO2  (NS., 

viii.,  58  ff.). 


88 


tTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


complete  the  harmony  of  the  whole.  A similar  method  of 
reasoning,  based  on  his  contemplation  of  the  great  Stras- 
burg cathedral,  had  revealed  to  the  young  Student  Goethe 
the  original  plan  of  the  architect  that  the  tower  of  the  edifice 
should  end  with  a five-pointed  crown.* 

Goethe  was  fully  conscious  of  the  fact  that  his  investiga- 
tion  prefigured  the  future  development  of  Science,  that  it 
gave  expression  to  a great  principle,  the  idea  of  the  consist- 
ency  of  the  osteological  type  through  all  forms;  that,  at  the 
same  time,  the  way  was  pointed  out  to  deeper  insight  inte 
the  formation  of  the  animal  world  and  to  a broader  Outlook 
upon  the  great  whole  of  nature.  “ How  natural  it  will  be 
to  proceed  from  this  one  little  bone  to  the  rest  of  compara- 
tive  osteology  thou  canst  doubtless  see,  and  later  it  will  be 
even  more  apparent”  (letter  to  Merck,  December  19,  1784), 
“ One  could  then  go  more  into  detail  and,  by  careful  compar. 
ison,  Step  by  step,  of  several  animals,  advance  from  tlx. 
simplest  to  the  more  complex,  from  the  small  and  cramped  to 
the  huge  and  extended.”  t 

Goethe’s  interest  in  this  subject  was  stimulated  from 
another  quarter.  The  most  celebrated  anatomists  of  his 
time,  Blumenbach,  Camper,  and  Sömmering,  saw  in  the  sup- 
posed  lack  of  the  intermaxillary  bone  the  only  mark  of  dis- 
tinction  between  man  and  the  ape,  and  so  the  old  moot 
question  again  engaged  the  leading  minds  in  a spirited 
controversy.  As  opposed  to  this  view  Goethe  expressed  the 
conviction  that  the  difference  between  man  and  the  animals 
could  not  be  found  in  any  particular  part  of  the  body.  1 “ The 
harmony  of  the  whole  makes  every  creature  what  it  is,  and 
man  is  man  by  the  form  and  nature  of  his  upper  jaw  as  well 
as  by  the  form  and  nature  of  the  last  phalanx  of  his  little  toe. 
Then  again  every  creature  is  but  a tone,  a modulation,  of  a 
great  harmony,  which  must  be  studied  as  a whole  and  in  all 
its  grandeur;  otherwise  each  individual  part  is  but  a lifeless 
letter.  This  little  work  is  written  from  this  point  of  view 

* Cf.  vol.  i.,  p.  105. — C. 

t NS.,  viii.,  102. 

t Letter  to  Knebel,  November  17,  1784. 


e IRaturaltet 


89 


and  that  is  really  the  interest  that  lies  concealed  in  it.” 
Goethe  was  so  fortunate  as  to  show  that  even  in  apes  cases 
occur  in  which  the  intermaxillary  bone  is  so  grown  together 
with  the  adjacent  bones  that  the  outer  suture  is  scarcely 
visible. 

All  his  efforts  to  obtain  the  recognition  of  his  discovery 
among  specialists  failed,  except  in  the  case  of  his  teacher, 
Loder.  For  the  present  it  was  not  given  the  poet  to  “ legit- 
imate  ” himself  in  the  “ leamed  body  ” of  anatomists  by  means 
of  his  “inaugural  disputation.”  It  was  sent  first,  on  the 
i9th  of  December,  1784,  to  Darmstadt,  to  Merck,  then  to 
Cassel,  to  Sömmering,  and  finally  to  Stavoren,  Holland,  to 
Camper,  the  most  celebrated  anatomist  of  the  time,  who  did 
not  receive  it  tili  the  middle  of  September,  1785,  nine  months 
after  it  had  been  started  on  its  round.  It  took  the  work  so 
long  to  make  the  joumey  because  it  was  not  despatched  tili 
suitable  opportunities  offered.  Most  carefully  prepared 
and  very  distinct  drawings  of  the  skulls  investigated  by 
Goethe  were  intended  to  demonstrate  the  difference  in  form 
in  different  animals  of  the  bone  wedged  in  between  the  two 
halves  of  the  upper  jaw,  and  to  show  its  existence  in  man. 
They  also  contained  among  their  number  different  animal 
skulls  in  which  the  bone  was  either  partly  or  wholly  grown 
together  with  adjacent  bones.  The  author’s  name  was  not 
mentioned,  and  Camper  in  all  honesty  subjected  the  treatise 
to  a thorough  test,  making  a new  investigation  of  skulls  of 
various  ages ; but  he  held  fast  his  old  view  that  man  has  no 
intermaxillary  bone.  In  other  respects  he  confirmed  all  of 
Goethe’s  observations,  even  that  conceming  the  walrus,  in 
which  the  bone  had  not  been  recognised  because  of  its  com- 
pressed,  misshapen,  form,  and  of  which  it  had  also  been  said 
that  it  had  no  incisor  teeth.  Goethe  remarked  that,  judg- 
ing  by  the  form  of  the  intermaxillary,  one  must  ascribe  to 
the  walrus  four  incisors.  Camper  considered  this  remark 
likewise  correct  and  wrote  to  Merck  conceming  the  inter- 
maxillary: “Votre  ami,  je  suppose  Mr.  Goethe,  nous  a mis 
en  train  et  ä l’examen  d’ un  os,  qui  serait  reste  inconnu 
dans  le  morse,  si  nous  n’avions  pas  eu  ces  6claircisse- 


90 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


ments”*;  but  he  continued  to  deny  the  very  thing  about 
which  Goethe  cared  most : “ L’os  intermaxillaire  n’existe  pas 
dans  1’  homme.”  f From  Sömmering  Goethe  received,  as  he 
wrote  to  Merck,  “a  very  light  letter.  He  even  wants  to 
talk  me  out  of  it.  Humph!”  % 

With  such  Opposition  on  the  part  of  specialists  Goethe 
lost  all  desire  to  publish  the  treatise.  Loder  announced  the 
discovery  to  the  scientific  world  in  1788  in  his  Anatomisches 
Handbuch.  Sömmering  and  Blumenbach  gradually  became 
converted,  but  it  was  almost  forty  years  before  Goethe’s 
discovery  attained  full  recognition.  He  himself  did  not  pub- 
lish the  little  work  tili  1820,  when  it  appeared  with  important 
additions  in  one  of  the  numbers  of  his  periodical  Zur  Natur- 
wissenschaft,12  and  it  was  not  until  a year  before  his  death 
that  he  experienced  the  joy  of  seeing  it  reprinted,  together 
with  the  drawings,  in  the  Verhandlungen  der  Kaiserlich  Leo- 
poldinisch-Karolinischen  Akademie  der  Naturforscher. 

Goethe  was,  however,  not  disconcerted ; he  knew  before- 
hand  that  he  was  on  the  right  path,§  or,  as  Herder  put  it,  on 
the  true  path  of  nature,  fl  and  that  from  now  on  he  would 
lose  nothing.  His  scientific  activity  broadened  from  day 
to  day,  but  the  vegetable  kingdom  especially  engrossed  his 
attention. 

Immediately  on  his  arrival  in  Weimar  his  interest  was 
aroused  in  the  plant  world,  partly  because  his  official  duties 
tumed  his  attention  in  that  direction.  In  nature’s  open 
workshop,  in  meadow  and  field,  in  forest  and  game  preserve, 
began  his  studies,  which  found  rieh  nourishment  in  the  lay- 
ing  out  of  gardens  for  the  Duke  and  in  the  desire  to  beautify 
his  own  garden  out  of  his  own  resources.  Even  as  early  as 
1788  we  find  him  occupied  with  observations  on  mosses;  not 
until  later  did  he  tum  to  books,  for  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to 

* Your  friend— Herr  Goethe,  I presume — has  set  us  to  seeking  and 
examining  a bone  which  would  have  remained  unknown  in  the  walrus, 
if  we  had  not  had  these  explanations  ( Briefe  an  Merck,  470). 

t The  intermaxillary  bone  does  not  exist  in  man  ( ibid .,  481). 

% Letter  to  Merck,  February  13,  1785. 

§ Letter  to  Frau  von  Stein,  Oct.  2,  1783. 

| Knebels  literarischer  Nachlass,  ii.,  236. 


Zf) e Iftaturaltet 


91 

learn  any  thing  from  them,*  and  it  was  only  after  he  had 
looked  about  him  for  a long  time  in  nature  and  had  discov- 
ered  some  of  the  secrets  of  her  workings  that  he  knew  how 
to  use  books.  From  1785  on  he  was  wholly  absorbed  in  the 
plant  world,  and  “in  botany  he  had  soon  made  very  fine 
discoveries  and  combinations  which  corrected  many  errors 
and  threw  light  on  many  points.”  f But  he  was  not  seeking 
to  find  out  isolated  facts;  it  was  his  aim  here  as  everywhere 
to  discover  a general,  fundamental  law  to  which  individual 
phenomena  can  be  reduced.  f Upon  this  was  centred  the 
“ productive  passion  ” which  he  had  conceived  for  the  natural 
Sciences.  The  gay  bustle  of  the  “ children  of  nature  with 
their  quiet  charms”  crowded  itself  upon  him  with  irresistible 
power,  and  whereas  it  had  hitherto  rejoiced  only  his  senses 
it  now  took  possession  of  his  mind  and  soul.  Indeed,  every- 
thing  that  he  observed  in  nature  assumed  for  him  the  char- 
acter  of  experience,  as  he  declared  in  numerous  utterances.13 
In  his  mind  outer  wTorld  and  inner  wTorld  are  most  intimately 
connected ; “ he  had  never  separated  the  two.”  In  this  one- 
ness,  and  in  the  manner  in  which  he  was  able  to  “ unite  the 
productive  with  the  historical,”  lies  the  inexhaustible  charm 
of  his  presentations  of  his  knowledge  of  nature,  of  which  he 
might  have  said,  as  he  did  of  his  poems:  “I  did  not  make 
them;  they  made  me.”  On  the  9th  of  July,  1786,  he  wrote 
to  Frau  von  Stein:  “The  vegetable  kingdom  is  raging 
again  in  my  soul;  I cannot  rid  myself  of  it  for  a single  mo- 
ment;  am,  however,  making  fine  progress.”  On  the  follow- 
ing  day  he  wrote:  “ What  rejoices  me  most  at  present  is  the 
nature  of  plants,  which  is  pursuing  me,  and  that  is  really 
the  way  a thing  becomes  one’s  own.  Everything  is  forcing 
itself  upon  me,  I no  longer  reflect  upon  it,  everything  comes 
to  me,  and  the  vast  kingdom  is  simplifying  itself  in  my  soul, 
so  that  I shall  soon  be  able  to  accomplish  with  ease  the  most 
difficult  task.” 

This  anticipation  of  his  discovery  of  plant  metamorpho- 

* Letter  to  Merck,  Oct.  n,  1780. 

t Letter  to  Merck,  April  8,  1785. 

} Eckermann,  Gespräche  mit  Goethe , i.,  232. 


92 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


sis,  which  at  that  time  hovered  before  his  mind  under  the 
sensual  form  of  a supersensual  Ur pflanze,  accompanied  him 
across  the  Alps.  In  Italy,  so  rieh  in  form,  he  saw  fresh  and 
happy,  side  by  side,  beneath  the  open  sky,  a fulness  and 
variety  of  thronging  life  such  as  was  hardly  to  be  found, 
scattered,  in  the  narrow  hot-houses  of  his  northem  home; 
he  found  here  everything  more  unfolded  and  further  devel- 
oped,  and  many  thingswhich  he  had  previously  only  surmised, 
and  had  sought  with  the  microscope,  he  here  saw  with  his 
naked  eye  as  an  indubitable  certainty.  The  plant  world 
had  taken  such  a mighty  hold  upon  him  that  it  more  than 
once  crowded  out  his  poetic  dreams.  In  Palermo  he  went 
to  the  public  gardens  to  think  over  the  plot  of  Nausikaa 
more  fully,  but  the  thoughts  which  the  wealth  of  plants  sug- 
gested  to  his  mind  disturbed  his  poetic  plan : “ The  garden 
of  Alcinous  had  vanished  and  a world  garden  had  appeared 
before  me.”  He  had  seen  and  reflected  enough  in  the  world 
garden;  he  was  now  able  to  pluck  the  ripened  fruit.  To  be 
sure,  it  did  not  fall  into  his  hands  without  some  effort  on  his 
part ; in  fact,  in  later  years  he  insisted  that  the  same  was 
true  of  his  works  in  general.  Of  this  particular  fruit  of 
his  labour  he  said:  “What  a long  chain  of  observations 
and  reflections  I had  to  carry  out  before  the  idea  of  plant 
metamorphosis  dawned  upon  me!”  * But  now  everything 
developed  from  within,f  and  in  Sicily,  at  the  goal  of  his 
“flight,”  the  idea  of  the  metamorphosis  of  plants  stood  out 
clearly  before  his  soul  and  mind  and  “gave  spiritual  con- 
tent”  to  his  sojoum  in  Naples  and  Sicily. 

In  this  epic  of  the  coming  into  being  of  higher  plants,  as 
Alfred  Kirchhoff  aptly  calls  the  little  treatise  which  appeared 
in  1790  under  the  title  Versuch,  die  Metamorphose  der  Pflan- 
zen zu  erklären,  Goethe  revealed  to  the  scientific  world  an  idea 
of  Creative  power  continuing  in  Operation.  He  sought  in 
this  way  to  reduce  “ the  manifold  specific  phenomena  of  the 
glorious  world  garden  to  a simple,  general  principle,”  % and 

* Bedeutende  Fordernis  durch  ein  einziges  geistreiches  Wort  {NS.,  xi.,  62). 

t SGG.,  ii.,  1 14. 

J Schicksal  der  Handschrift  {NS.,  vi.,  132). 


ftbe  Naturalist 


93 


it  may  be  said  that  our  poet  was  the  first  man  to  raise  botany, 
and  at  the  same  time  zoölogy,  to  the  rank  of  a real  Science- 
Hitherto  these  disciplines  had  consisted  solely  in  empirical 
description,  in  collecting  and  arranging,  and  in  distinguish- 
ing  and  separating.  To  draw  an  illustration  from  botany, 
the  plant  in  its  totality,  and  each  organ  of  it,  was  considered 
only  as  a finished  thing  distinguished  from  all  other  things. 
Now  Goethe  had  studied  comparative  anatomy  and  com- 
parative  osteology,  and  in  this  way  had  had  the  good  fortune 
to  make  fine  discoveries ; what  could  have  been  more  logical 
than  that,  so  soon  as  he  tumed  to  this  field,  he  should  study 
comparative  botany — that  he  should  observe  the  relations 
of  different  plants  to  one  another,  and  those  existing  between 
the  organs  of  a single  plant?  Hence  it  was  necessary  for  him 
to  watch  the  plant  in  its  germination  and  growth,  in  “ its  de- 
velopment out  of  the  seed  and  all  the  way  to  the  formation 
of  new  seed”  (§  84) ; and  with  the  eye  of  a genius  he  recog- 
nised  that  cotyledon,  stem,  leaf,  sepal,  petal,  filament,  in 
short, — to  borrow  a common  expression  of  modern  Science — 
all  appendages,  or  lateral  Organs,  of  the  plant  axis  are  only 
transformed  or  metamorphosed  leaves;  that  is  to  say,  that 
all  those  organs  of  a higher  plant — for  it  is  only  with  such 
that  Goethe’s  doctrine  of  metamorphosis  deals — may  be 
reduced  to  a primordial  organ,  which  he  calls  leaf.  Accus- 
tomed  to  view  every  manifestation  of  nature  in  its  relation  to 
her  other  phenomena,  in  the  conviction  that  only  in  this  way 
is  it  possible  to  entice  from  her  her  secrets,  he  directed  his 
attention  to  formations  deviating  from  the  norm,  to  certain 
monstrosities,  as,  for  example,  double  flowers,  in  which 
“are  developed  petals  instead  of  filaments  and  anthers,  ” — 
that  is  to  say,  a petal  is  formed  where  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances  a filament  appears — and  from  these  facts  he 
deduced  the  inward  relationship  of  these  organs,  their  simi- 
lar  origin,  and  their  predisposition  to  assume  the  same  form. 
Such  phenomena  of  abnormal  or  retrogressive  metamor- 
phosis aided  him  in  his  investigation  of  the  normal  course 
of  plant  development.14 

It  is  worthy  of  note  in  this  connection  that  Goethe  did  not 


94 


£be  %\tc  of  (Soetbe 


see  in  the  leaf  as  the  fundamental  organ  the  final  simple  ele- 
ment  to  which  the  plant  form  may  be  reduced.  He  chose 
this  designation  for  lack  of  a b etter.  Modem  science  em- 
ploys  the  term  leaf-organ.  In  Order  to  have  gone  back  to 
the  beginnings  of  plant  growth  he  would  have  had  to  have 
a knowledge  of  the  elementary  organism,  the  cell,  which 
was  impossible  before  the  perfection  of  the  microscope. 
But  that  Goethe’s  genius  had  divined  the  truth  clearly  and 
with  surprising  accuracy  is  apparent  from  his  words : “ Every 
living  thing  is  a multiple,  not  a single,  being;  even  in  so  far 
as  it  seems  to  us  an  individual  it  remains  nevertheless  an 
aggregation  of  independent  living  beings,  which  in  idea  or 
plan  are  homogeneous,  but  in  appearance  may  be  homo- 
geneous,  or  similar,  heterogeneous,  or  dissimilar.  In  part 
these  beings  are  united  from  their  origin,  in  part  they  find 
each  other  and  unite.  They  separate  and  then  enter  into 
new  unions,  thus  securing  an  endless  production  in  every 
way  and  in  every  direction.”  * 

In  his  doctrine  of  vegetable  metamorphosis  Goethe  had  a 
predecessor  in  the  person  of  Kaspar  Friedrich  Wolff,  who 
expressed  the  same  idea,  that  all  lateral  organs  of  a higher 
plant  are  modified  leav^es,  but  he  observed  with  the  micro- 
scope what  the  poet  saw  with  the  eyes  of  his  spirit.  Wolff’s 
work,  however,  had  remained  entirely  unknown  to  him,  as 
it  had  to  Germany  in  general,  and  Goethe  was  one  of  the 
first  to  point  out  its  merits.  He  called  him  with  joyful  recog- 
nition  an  “excellent  predecessor.”  Wolff’s  method  of  rea- 
soning  was  altogether  unacceptable  in  so  far  as  he  ascribed 
the  course  of  development  of  a plant  to  maturity  to  a stunt- 
ing  of  its  growth — an  idea  which  Goethe  characterised 
as  absurd. 

As  a matter  of  fact,  science  acquired  the  doctrine  of  met- 
amorphosis from  Goethe ; but  it  was  decades  before  the  new 
conception  was  really  adopted  by  scientists  as  a working 
prineiple.  Disregard,  indifference,  rejection,  misinterpreta- 
tion,  misunderstanding, — such  was  the  fate  which  the  “lit- 
tle  botanical  work”  experienced,  so  that  Reichenbach  was 
* Zur  Morphologie  (A 'S.,  vi.,  io). 


Goethe  by  Kolbe 
(From  Heinemann’s  Goethe) 


ftbe  IRaturaltet 


95 


justified  in  saying  of  the  poet,  in  1828:  “Back  in  his  youth 
he  discovered  the  dryad’s  secret,  but  he  had  to  become  a 
greybeard  before  the  world  understood  him.”  It  was  a 
tragic  feature  of  our  poet’s  life  that  the  recognition  for  which 
he  yeamed,  especially  in  his  scientific  work,  was  so  long 
denied  him.  It  may  well  have  been  this  fact  that  prevented 
his  writing  “the  second  essay  on  the  metamorphosis  of 
plants,”  * of  which  only  a short  fragment  has  been  preserved. 
When  Goethe,  in  the  summer  of  1831,  through  the  mediation 
of  his  spiritual  kinsman  Geoffroy  de  Saint-Hilaire,  sent  the 
French  translation  of  his  Metamorphose  der  Pflanzen,  for 
which  Soret  had  arranged  under  his  direction,  to  the  Acad- 
emie  Franyaise,  de  Saint-Hilaire  said  in  his  report:  “When 
Goethe  came  out  with  his  work  in  1790  it  was  little  noticed; 
indeed,  scientists  came  near  considering  it  an  aberration. 
To  be  sure,  there  was  an  error  at  the  bottom  of  it,  but  such 
a one  as  only  genius  can  commit.  Goethe’s  only  error  con- 
sisted  in  allowing  his  treatise  to  be  published  almost  half  a 
Century  too  soon,  before  there  were  any  botanists  who  were 
able  to  study  it  and  understand  it.”  | 

It  would  be  giving  to  this  little  work  but  the  smallest 
part  of  the  recognition  due  it,  if  one  were  to  see  in  it  nothing 
more  than  the  proof  of  the  identity  of  all  the  parts  which  we 
have  characterised  as  the  lateral  Organs  of  the  plant  axis.  It 
is  based,  in  fact,  on  an  infinitely  greater,  higher,  and  more 
comprehensive,  idea,  the  idea  of  evolution,  the  germ  of  which 
is  thus  seen  to  be  contained  in  Goethe’s  first  scientific  writ- 
ing. Never  before  had  the  Sciences  of  the  organic  world 
received  such  a mighty  impulse  as  through  this  idea,  which 
was  destined  to  awaken  them,  as  though  with  a magic  wand, 
out  of  their  long  lethargy,  to  a new  flourishing  existence. 

In  his  essay  on  Joachim  Jungius,  in  the  passage  in  which 
he  speaks  of  Francis  Bacon,  who,  he  says,  considered  “ dif- 
ferentiation  and  exact  representation  of  differences  as  true 
natural  philosophy,”  Goethe  says:  “The  conviction  that 
everything  must  be  in  existence  in  a finished  state,  if  one 

* Letter  to  Knebel,  July  9,  1790;  NS.,  vi.,  279. 

t Müller,  Goethes  letzte  literarische  Tätigkeit , 54. 


96 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


is  to  bestow  upon  it  proper  attention,  had  completely  be- 
fogged  the  Century  . . . and  so  this  way  of  thinking  has  come 
down  as  the  most  natural  and  most  convenient  from  the 
seventeenth  to  the  eighteenth,  and  from  the  eighteenth  to 
the  nineteenth  Century.  ...”  In  Linne  this  method  of  in- 
terpreting  nature  had  found  a perfect,  incomparable  system- 
atist,  who  showed  no  desire  to  seek  the  inward  Connection 
of  the  whole,  and  hardly  betrayed  the  faintest  conception 
of  the  fact  that  Science  rises  to  its  full  dignity  only  when  it 
has  investigated  the  origin  of  Organisation.  The  school  of 
Linne,  which,  thanks  to  the  sovereign  talent  of  its  founder, 
ruled  the  scientific  world  for  a time,  considered  its  task 
limited  to  the  elaboration,  completion,  and  explanation,  of 
this  System,  and  became  more  and  more  fixed  in  the  idea 
that  “ nothing  can  come  into  being  but  wrhat  is  already  in  exis- 
ence,”*  a conception  wdfich  had  gained  complete  control 
over  all  minds. 

According  to  this  view  the  whole  plant,  for  example, 
was  said  to  be  incased  in  the  seed,  entirely  preformed  on  a 
small  scale.  Hence  there  was  no  evolution,  there  was  only 
an  unfolding,  and  this  doctrine  of  emboitement,  or  preforma- 
tion,  was  held  fast,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  led,  by  logical 
necessity,  to  the  absurd  conclusion  that  in  the  plant  germ 
of  any  particular  species  all  future  generations  were  from 
the  very  beginning  inclosed  one  within  another.  The  idea 
found  its  pregnant  expression  in  Haller’s  “nil  noviter  gene- 
rari.”  To  this  apparent  death  Goethe  opposed  real  life  in 
his  conception  of  evolution.  Evolution  means  the  continual 
development  of  the  diverse  and  manifold  out  of  the  single  and 
simple,  and  he  knows  that  in  the  organic  world  endurance, 
rest,  and  final  state  are  nowhere  to  be  found,  f rather,  that 
everything  varies  with  constant  motion.  That  which  is 
formed  is  immediately  transformed,  and,  if  we  desire  to 
arrive  in  some  measure  at  a living  conception  of  nature,  we 
must  follow  the  example  which  she  sets  and  keep  ourselves 
in  a live  and  formative  state. 

* Campagne  in  Frankreich  ( W xxxiii.,  197). 

t NS.,  vi.,  9 f. 


£be  IHaturalist 


97 


The  idea  of  evolution  was  a lightning  flash  that  rifted 
the  clouds  of  the  Century  and  shed  a flood  of  light  upon  the 
world  of  life.  The  metamorphosis  of  plants  is  but  a special 
application  of  this  idea.  It  shows  the  progressive  formation 
and  transformation  of  the  fundamental  organ  into  more  and 
more  perfect  and  efficient  Organs,  until  in  the  end  it  reaches 
the  highest  point  of  organic  activity,  the  setting  apart  and 
Separation  of  individuals  from  the  organic  whole  by  the 
process  of  procreation  and  birth.* 

Finally  Goethe  identified  the  idea  of  metamorphosis  with 
the  idea  of  evolution  in  general.  In  this  sense  he  called  the 
former  a IV  Kal  näv,  and  it  was  this  idea,  which  embraces 
the  whole  organic  world,  that  guided  him  through  the  laby- 
rinth  of  the  world  before  he  had  worked  out  that  special 
application  of  the  idea.  Nothing  eise  can  be  meant  by  the 
Statement  in  his  letter  of  July  6,  1786,  to  Frau  von  Stein,  “ I 
have  again  been  able  to  observe  very  beautiful  qualities  in 
flowers,  and  before  long  all  life  will  appear  to  my  mind  in  a 
bright  and  clear  light”;  and  he  cannot  have  been  thinking 
of  anything  but  the  idea  of  evolution  underlying  his  concep- 
tion  of  metamorphosis  when  he  wrote  from  Naples,  on  the 
i7th  of  May,  1787 : “ It  will  be  found  that  the  same  law  can 
be  applied  to  every  other  form  of  life.” 

Only  when  he  had  before  him  a magnificent  visible  cor- 
robation  of  his  idea  of  evolution,  in  the  discovery  of  the  met- 
amorphosis of  plants ; only  when  he  knew  the  true  history  of 
the  plant,  its  successive  stages  of  growth  from  small  begin- 
nings  to  maturity — “just  as  true  history  does  not  recount 
occurrences,  but  events,  as  they  appear  in  the  various  stages 
of  their  development”  f — only  then  was  he  able,  as  a true 
investigator,  to  proclaim  the  idea  of  evolution  as  a supreme 
scientific  principle.  From  that  time  on  Goethe  knew  no 
higher,  indeed,  no  other,  method  of  viewing  nature,  and  no 
other  way  of  dealing  with  natural  phenomena,  than  the 
genetic  method,  % and  one  of  our  greatest  naturalists  § says 

* NS.,  vi.,  305.  t NS.,  ix.,  275  f.  t NS.,  vi.,  303. 

§ Virchow,  in  Lexis,  Die  deutschen  Universitäten  (1893),  «•>  250. 
vol.  in.  — 7. 


98 


Z\) e Xife  of  (Boetbe 


without  qualification  that  Goethe  established  the  universal- 
ity  of  the  genetic  method.  Even  his  mode  of  thinking  was 
genetic. 

We  have  now  reached  a point  where  it  is  possible  to 
bring  the  poet-naturalist  nearer  to  our  understanding.  In 
attempting  to  do  so  we  shall  give  our  reasons  for  the  open- 
ing  Statement  of  this  chapter. 

In  a fragment  of  manuscript  containing  an  early  Version 
of  a part  of  his  Geschichte  seiner  botanischen  Studien  Goethe 
introduced  his  study  of  plants  in  Italy  in  the  following  sen- 
tence,  which,  however,  did  not  appear  in  the  same  form  in 
the  final  redaction:  “ In  the  year  referred  to  I ventured  on  a 
journey  to  Italy,  with  the  hard  task  of  solving  more  than 
one  riddle  which  was  a bürden  upon  my  life.  The  study  of 
plants  forced  itself  upon  me.”  * Viewed  aright,  the  riddles 
which  Goethe  went  forth  to  solve  may  be  reduced  to  a single 
one.  He  sought  to  find  the  crowning  piece  for  his  structure 
of  nature,  to  gain  under  the  Italian  sky  the  final  insight  into 
nature,  and  to  see  what  he  had  divined  demonstrated  as  a 
certainty.  For  it  does  not  seem  for  a moment  to  have  been 
concealed  from  him  that  he  thereby  would  have  gained  the 
deepest  insight  into  art ; that  by  the  completion  of  his  know- 
ledge  of  nature  he  would  have  attained  to  full  artistic  con- 
sciousness,  just  as  in  the  knowledge  of  nature  he  had  for  the 
first  time  found  a key  to  unlock  the  door  to  the  knowledge  of 
art.  Hence  we  can  understand  why  he  should  have  written 
to  Frau  von  Stein  as  early  as  the  24Ü1  of  November.  1786: 
‘‘Thou  knowest  my  old  manner.  I am  treating  Rome  as  I 
treat  nature,  and  it  is  already  beginning  to  rise  to  meet  me.” 
And  on  the  2oth  of  December:  “As  I have  hitherto  viewed 

nature  I now  view  art,  and  I am  gaining  what  I have  so  long 
sought,  a more  complete  idea  of  the  highest  things  that  men 
have  accomplished,  and  my  soul  is  expanding  more  in  this 
direction  and  looks  out  upon  a freer  field.”  Finally,  on  the 
2 9th  of  December,  to  Herder:  “ My  dear  old  friend : — Archi- 
tecture  and  sculpture  and  painting  are  now  to  me  like  min- 
eralogy,  botany,  and  zoölogy.  Furthermore,  I have  now 

* NS.,  vi.,  386. 


XTbe  IRaturallöt 


99 


grasped  these,  the  arts,  aright,  and  I shall  not  let  them  go, 
and  I know  for  certain  that  I am  not  catching  at  a phantom.  ”* 
Thus  to  Goethe ’s  mind  it  was  from  the  outset  clear,  not 
only  that  the  deepest  knowledge  of  nature  is  none  too  good 
for  the  highest  perfection  of  art,  but  also  that  the  road  to  the 
mastery  of  art  is  the  same  that  he  had  travelled  in  Order 
to  master  nature;  “that  finally  in  the  practice  of  art 
we  can  compete  with  nature  only  when  we  have  leamed 
from  her,  to  some  extent  at  least,  the  manner  in  which  she 
proceeds  in  the  production  of  her  works.”  f Now  how  does 
nature  proceed?  How  eise  than  by  the  way  of  evolution 
does  she  go  about  the  production  of  a “ living  creature  as  the 
model  for  all  artistic  Creations?  ” Therefore,  in  the  highest 
sphere  it  is  not  really  what  has  come  into  being,  what  is,  as 
such,  that  is  a subject  for  art;  but  in  so  far  as  in  it  a trace  of 
growth,  evolution,  and  living  motion,  is  observed,  and  the 
relation  of  the  parts  to  one  another  and  to  the  whole  is  visi- 
ble. “ The  human  figure  cannot  be  comprehended  by  merely 
looking  at  its  surface ; one  must  lay  bare  its  interior,  separate 
its  parts,  note  the  Connections,  know  the  differences,  study 
action  and  reaction,  and  keep  clearly  in  mind  the  hidden, 
the  fixed,  and  the  fundamental,  elements  of  appearance,  if 
one  would  really  see  and  imitate  that  which  moves  before  our 
eyes  in  living  waves  as  a beautiful,  undivided  whole.”  J Not 
only  is  this  true  of  the  human  figure,  “the  non  plus  ultra  of 
all  human  knowledge  and  activity,”  § “ the  alpha  and  omega 
of  all  things  known  to  us”;  ||  even  the  artist,  for  example, 
who  desires  to  represent  flowers  and  fruits  will  only  “be- 
come  the  greater  and  more  thorough  if,  in  addition  to  his 
talent,  he  is  a well  informed  botanist : if  from  the  root  up  he 
knows  the  influence  of  the  different  parts  on  the  growth 
and  prosperity  of  the  plant,  knows  their  various  functions  and 
their  effects  upon  one  another,  and  if  he  comprehends  and 


* SGG.,  ii.,  pp.  223,  240,  and  333. 
t Einleitung  in  die  Propyläen  ( W .,  xlvii.,  14  /.). 
%Ibid.,  ( W .,  xlvii.,  13). 

% Italienische  Reise,  Rome,  Jan.  10,  1788. 

11  Ibid.,  Rome,  Äugt.  23,  1787. 


IOO 


Zbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


reflects  upon  the  successive  evolution  of  leaves,  flowers,  fer- 
tilisation,  fruit,  and  the  new  germ.”  * 

At  the  time  when  these  words  were  written  the  revelation 
of  the  metamorphosis  of  plants  had  already  come  to  the  poet ; 
he  had  given  himself  up  to  the  idea  with  joy  and  delight, 
had  applied  it  everywhere,  even  in  art ; and  yet  with  respect 
to  the  highest  art,  antique  art,  it  was  more  than  a year  before 
his  conjecture  gave  way  to  certainty,  of  the  correctness  of 
the  view  that  nature  and  art  are  but  manifestations  of  one 
and  the  same  reality — a view  which  later  dominated  and 
satisfied  his  artistic  and  scientific  consciousness.  At  that 
time  he  was  still  engaged  in  “ investigating  how  those  incom- 
parable  artists  went  about  it  to  evolve  out  of  the  human 
figure  the  circle  of  divine  formation,  in  which  neither  a single 
chief  character  nor  the  transitions  and  agencies  are  lacking. 
I surmise  that  they  proceeded  according  to  the  laws  which 
guide  nature  and  of  which  I am  on  the  track.  But  there  is 
something  eise  about  them  that  I am  unable  to  express  in 
words.”  t 

After  he  had  gone  to  Sicily  and  retumed  to  Rome  it  was 
no  longer  a surmise,  it  had  become  with  him  a “Colum- 
bus’s  egg;”J  he  had  not  only  found  the  clue,  he  had  the 
“ master  key,”  and  was  in  a position  to  declare  that  “these 
great  works  of  art  are  at  the  same  time  the  highest  works  of 
nature,  produced  by  man  in  accordance  with  true  and  nat- 
ural laws;  everything  capricious  and  imaginary  falls  to  the 
ground ; here  is  necessity,  here  is  God.”  He  was  able  to  look 
into  the  depths  of  art  with  all  the  greater  joy  as  he  had 
accustomed  his  sight  to  the  depths  of  nature.  § 

Goethe’s  philosophy  ,of  art,  then,  is  based  on  the  laws 
which  he  read  in  the  open  book  of  nature.  The  great  prin- 
ciples  underlying  the  realm  of  nature,  the  conception  of  unity 
and  the  idea  of  evolution,  when  applied  to  art,  become  the 
tvpical  in  art  and  individual  freedom  in  the  development 

* Einfache  Nachahmung  der  Natur,  Manier,  Stil  (TV.,  xlvii.,  S2). 
t Italienische  Reise,  Rome,  Jan.  28,  1787.  Cf.  also  Anhang  zur 
Lebensbeschreibung  des  Benvenuto  Cellini,  XVI  (IV.,  xliv.,  384  /.). 

J Italienische  Reise,  Rome,  Sept.  6,  1787. 

§ Letter  to  Karl  August,  Jan.  25,  1788. 


Ube  IRaturalist 


ior 


and  assertion  of  personality,  the  highest  bliss  of  the  sons  of 
earth.  Their  union  represents  that  inward  unity,  that  true- 
to-nature  character,  of  the  Creations  of  his  muse,  which  lends 
them  the  stamp  of  etemity.  And  art  was  by  no  means  one 
of  the  least  potent  factors  in  prompting  him  always  to  take 
“very  seriously  everything  that  concems  the  great  etemal 
relations  of  nature.”  * Even  the  supreme  revelation  of  art, 
the  beautiful,  comes  to  us  “when  we  behold  life  in  accord- 
ance  with  law  in  its  highest  activity  and  perfection,  by  which 
we  are  stimulated  to  reproduce  and  are  made  to  feel  our- 
selves  animated  and  transported  to  highest  activity.”  f 
Thus  art  reproduces  whatever  it  may  have  received  from 
nature;  for  art  is  not  an  imitator  of  nature,  but  her  “wor- 
thiest  interpreter,  ” J and  an  irresistible  longing  for  art  is 
feit  by  all  to  whom  nature  begins  to  disclose  her  open 
secret.  Hence  art  becomes,  so  to  speak,  a touchstone  for 
the  discovered  laws  of  nature,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  is  able 
to  reveal  natural  laws.  This  divine  spark  is  the  beautiful; 
for  “ the  beautiful  is  a manifestation  of  secret  laws  of  nature, 
which  but  for  this  phenomenon  would  have  remained  hidden 
from  us  for  ever.”  § 

Goethe  found  the  philosophical  justification  and  confirm- 
ation  of  his  conception  of  the  relations  between  nature  and 
art  in  Kant’s  Kritik  der  Urteilskraft,  to  which  he  owed,  for 
this  reason,  one  of  the  most  joyous  periods  of  his  life.  ||  It 
pleased  him  to  leam  in  this  work  that  poetry  and  the  com- 
parative  science  of  nature  are  so  closely  related,  in  that  both 
are  subject  to  the  same  power  of  judgment.  He  found  here 
the  fulfilment  of  his  own  demand  that  a work  of  art  should 
be  treated  like  a work  of  nature,  and  a work  of  nature  like 
a work  of  art,  and  that  the  value  of  each  should  be  derived 
from  itself  and  considered  by  itself.T  And  as,  in  every  work 

* Letter  to  Knebel,  Jan.  28,  1789. 

t Campagne  in  Frankreich  (W.,  xxxiii.,  234). 

X Maximen  und  Reflexionen  über  Kunst  (W.,  xlviii.,  179);  Sprüche  in 
Prosa , No.  214. 

§ Sprüche  in  Prosa , No.  197. 

|j  Einwirkung  der  neueren  Philosophie  (NS.,  xi.,  47  ff.). 

TT Campagne  in  Frankreich  (W.,  xxxiii.,  154). 


102 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


of  art,  art  should  always  be  represented  as  a whole,  Goethe 
desired  also  that  in  every  single  being  the  workings  and  the 
design  of  nature  should  be  viewed  as  a whole,  and  every 
single  part  in  its  relation  to  the  whole. 

äßtllft  bu  bid)  am  ©atpen  erquicfen, 

©o  mupt  bu  bag  ©anje  im  Äleinfteti  etbltcfen.* 

Here  again  we  have  to  do  with  a point  of  view  at  which 
Goethe  had  arrived  far  ahead  of  his  age.  For  if  the  value  of 
each  being  is  to  be  derived  from  that  being  itself  and  to  be 
eonsidered  by  itself,  then  every  creature  must  have  its  pur- 
pose  in  itself,  and  cannot  be  explained  by  external  purposes ; 
much  less  by  Subordination  to  the  purposes  of  man, — who, 
in  spite  of  Copemicus,  still  eonsidered  himself  the  centre  of 
the  universe.  This  teleological  way  of  thinking,  however, 
still  held  sway  over  the  investigators  of  nature  and  prevented 
the  scientific  comprehension  of  organic  nature  and  the  pro- 
gress  of  investigation.  In  his  energetic  rejection  of  teleologv 
our  poet  stood  almost  alone.  His  philosophical  teacher  had, 
with  his  usual  acumen,  long  ago  discovered  the  anthropo- 
morphism  of  final  purposes  and  had  declared  that  “ all  final 
causes  are  human  inventions.”  In  this  particular  Goethe 
followed  him  unconditionally.  His  utterances  conceming 
the  scientific  inadmissibility  of  teleology  as  an  explaining 
principle  are  extraordinarily  numerous,  and  he  left  among 
his  papers  a little  essay,  Einleitung  zu  einer  allgemeinen 
Vergleichungslehre ,f  which  is  devoted  exclusively  to  this 
subject.  One  cause  of  the  happy  period  of  his  life  which 
Kant’s  Kritik  der  Urteilskraft  was  chiefly  instrumental  in 
bringing  about  was  the  fact  that  his  disinclination  toward 
final  causes  was  now  explained  and  justified. 

Closely  related  to  this  attitude  was  his  unwillingness  to 
tolerate  the  view  that  every  Variation  from  the  norm  is 
pathological,  and  in  his  Observation  of  nature  he  carried  his 
objectivity  so  far  that  he  repeatedly  referred  to  the  rela- 
tivity  of  such  conceptions  as  “ defect,”  “ abnormal  develop- 

* If  in  the  All  thou  thy  soul  wouldst  regale, 

The  All  thou  must  see  in  the  smallest  detail, 
t NS.,  vii.,  215  ff. 


Sbe  IRaturaliöt 


103 

ment,”  “ malformation,”  “deformity,”  and  “stunt,”  and 
advised  caution  in  the  use  of  these  terms,  inasmuch  as 
everything  takes  place  in  accordance  with  the  simple  law  of 
metamorphosis,  “ which  by  its  efficacy  brings  before  our  eyes 
both  the  symmetrical  and  the  bizarre,  the  fertile  and  the 
barren,  the  comprehensible  and  the  incomprehensible.”  15 
He  desired  that  one  should  become  thoroughly  permeated 
with  the  truth  that  one  can  by  no  means  obtain  a compre- 
hensive  view  unless  one  always  considers  normal  and  abnor- 
mal at  the  same  time,  in  their  variations  and  effects.  This 
insight  had  led  him,  as  we  know,  to  the  discovery  of  the 
metamorphosis  of  plants. 

The  perfecting  of  the  ideas  conceming  formation  and 
transformation  of  organic  nature,  which  Goethe  brought 
back  from  Italy  in  far  more  finished  form  than  when  he  set 
out  on  his  joumey  to  the  south,  occupied  his  mind  cease- 
lessly,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  distractions  into  which  he 
was  drawn  during  the  succeeding  years.  The  first  fruit 
was  Die  Metamorphose  der  Pflanzen.  Called  soon  afterward 
to  the  seat  of  war  in  Silesia,  during  his  sojoum  in  Breslau  he 
devoted  himself  chiefly  to  comparative  anatomy.  On  the 
3 ist  of  August,  1790,  he  wrote  from  Landshut  to  Friedrich 
von  Stein,  “In  the  midst  of  all  this  turmoil  I have  begun 
to  write  my  treatise  on  animals.” 

His  plans  were  far-reaching.  The  works  which  he  him- 
self published,  together  with  the  many  preparatory  studies 
in  the  fields  of  botany  and  comparative  anatomy,  which 
have  been  brought  to  light  from  among  the  archives,  show 
that  it  was  his  intention  to  write  a general  theory  of  the  Sci- 
ence of  organic  nature,  in  which  no  branch  should  be  left 
unconsidered.  The  little  “treatise”  seems  to  have  been 
preserved  in  the  Versuch  über  die  Gestalt  der  Tiere*  of  which 
Goethe  speaks  in  several  letters  of  the  years  1790  and  1791, 
and  the  ideas  of  which  he  seems  to  have  incorporated  in 
later  works;  but  what  his  “youthful  assurance  dreamed  of 
as  a comprehensive  work”  came  out  into  the  world  as  a 
mere  outline,  a fragmentary  collection  of  material. 

* NS.,  viii.,  261. 


104 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


He  often  thought  that  he  was  about  ready  to  publish  it. 
In  1807  everything  was  prepared  for  publication  and  he 
wrote  introductions  and  prefaces  to  these  “ sketches  of  many 
years,”  but  they  were  again  laid  away,  and  not  until  1820 
did  he  begin  the  publication  of  his  anatomical  writings, 
together  with  the  reprinting  of  the  Metamorphose  and  other 
botanical  essays,  under  the  common  title  Zur  Morphologie. 

Goethe  created  not  merely  a name  for  the  Science,  but 
the  science  itself.  He  was  the  founder  of  scientific  morphol- 
ogy.  He  said  unequivocally  that  in  morphology  he  was 
setting  up  a new  science,  not  in  subject-matter,  it  is  true, 
but  in  point  of  view  and  in  method.*  What  he  means  by 
this  needs  no  further  explanation  after  what  has  already 
been  said.  Morphology  is  to  include  the  theory  of  forms, 
the  formation  and  transformation  of  organic  bodies.  Form 
is  variable,  coming  into  being  and  passing  away.  The  theory 
of  forms  is  the  theory  of  metamorphosis.  The  theory  of 
metamorphosis,  he  adds  to  these  aphoristic  utterances,  is 
the  key  to  all  the  signs  of  nature.  Hence  morphology  is  the 
focus  to  which  the  other  Sciences  of  organic  nature  tend, 
like  the  radii  of  a concave  mirror.  By  this  high  conception 
Goethe  made  morphology  both  the  foundation  and  the  end 
of  all  biological  Sciences.  It  finally  developed  into  the 
science  of  evolution. 

The  fund  of  particular  knowledge  which  had  been  grad- 
ually  collecting  could  not  fail  to  bring  about  a state  of  confu- 
sion  in  these  Sciences, — especially  in  comparative  anatomy — 
as  there  was  no  one  common  line  of  reasoning  according  to 
which  they  could  be  considered  both  extemally  and  with 
respect  to  their  inward  substance  and  their  mutual  relations, 
— no  leading  idea  to  which  they  had  to  be  subordinated.  In 
his  Erster  Entwurf  einer  allgemeinen  Einleitung  in  die  ver- 
gleichende Anatomie,  ausgehend  von  der  Osteologie,  which  he 
wrote  in  1795,  Goethe  proposed  “ an  anatomical  type,  a gen- 
eral composite  pattem  in  which  so  far  as  possible  the  fomis 
of  all  animals  should  be  contained.  In  its  universality  the 
type  embraces  the  whole  animal  world,  and  in  the  same  way 

* NS.,  vi.,  293  and  446. 


Gbe  TOaturaltet 


io5 

the  plant  world  is  reduced  to  a “vegetative”  type.  More 
particularly  the  type  belongs  to  the  higher  animals,  or  to  a 
single  dass.  This  type  is  found  by  process  of  abstraction 
from  empirical  knowledge  of  the  parts  which  in  appearance 
are  different,  but  in  plan  are  alike.  Goethe  repeatedly  calls 
the  type  a Proteus,  whom  we  “ must  be  skilled  to  follow  in 
all  his  versatility  ” ; forfrom  the  versatility  of  this  type  are 
“ to  be  derived  without  exception  the  manygenera  and  species 
known  to  us.”  Nevertheless,  the  type  is  an  element  that 
persists  and  endures  through  all  the  change  and  transforma- 
tion  of  forms.  In  a fragment  published  for  the  first  time  in 
the  Weimar  edition  of  Goethe’s  writings  we  read : “ Great 

difficulty  of  establishing  the  type  of  a whole  dass  in  general, 
so  that  it  will  fit  every  genus  and  every  species;  nature 
can  produce  her  genera  and  species  only  because  the  type 
which  is  prescribed  for  her  by  etemal  necessity  is  such  a 
Proteus;  and  this  Protean  type  escapes  even  a very  keen 
comparative  sense  and  can  be  caught  only  piecemeal  and,  as 
it  were,  only  and  always  in  contradictions.  ” * 

Now  what  is  the  type?  There  has  been  a great  deal  of 
controversy  about  whether  it  represents  merely  a general 
image,  a pattem,  an  ideal  character,  or  includes  the  concep- 
tion  of  the  ancestral  form. 16  The  settling  of  this  question 
has  been  considered  a matter  of  importance  because  upon  it 
seemed  to  depend  the  question  of  whether  Goethe  assumed 
the  permanence  of  species  or  was  a believer  in  the  theory  of 
descent.  It  is  impossible  for  us,  in  the  brief  space  here  allot- 
ted  to  us,  to  enter  upon  a discussion  of  the  former  question, 
but  it  is  our  opinion  that  from  the  whole  spirit  of  Goethe’s 
philosophy  of  nature  a perfectly  clear  conception  may  be 
gained  of  his  position  with  respect  to  the  theory  of  descent. 

Goethe  once  said  that  after  Shakespeare  and  Spinoza 
the  greatest  influence  was  exerted  upon  him  by  Linne,  not 
because  he  feit  himself  related  to  him  as  he  did  to  those  two 
spirits,  but  because  of  the  very  Opposition  to  which  Linne 
challenged  him,  because  of  the  discord  which  the  scientist 
produced  in  his  breast.  What  he  “ sought  with  violence  to 

* NS.,  vi.,  312  f. 


io6 


Tlbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


keep  apart  had  to  strive  after  union  to  satisfy  the  inner- 
most requirements  of  my  being.”  * Then  in  Linne’s  Funda- 
menta  Botanica,  as  well  as  in  Philosophia  Botanica,  which 
was  his  “ daily  study,”  the  dogma  of  the  permanence  of  spe- 
cies  confronted  him  with  unbending  rigidity:  “ Species  tot 

sunt  quot  diversas  formas  ab  initio  produxit  Infinitum  Ens; 
quae  formae,  secundum  generationi  inditas  leges,  produxere 
plures  at  sibi  semper  similes.”  In  contrast  with  systematis- 
ing,  registering  Linne,  who  separated  genus  from  genus, 
species  from  species,  as  a thing  that  had  “ existed  since  the 
days  of  Adam”  and  was  unchangeable,  our  poet  confesses: 
“ It  seemed  to  me  a task  that  defied  solution  to  charac- 
terise  genera  with  certainty  and  to  arrange  the  species  un- 
der  them.”  f He  thought  that  it  would  be  possible  truly  to 
determine  genera  and  species  only  by  developing  all  plant 
forms  out  of  one.  J He  was  convinced  that  the  plant  forms 
all  about  us  were  not  originally  determined  and  established : 
that,  rather,  together  with  a stubbom  generic  and  specific 
persistence,  they  wTere  given  a happy  mobility  and  flexibility, 
in  order  that  they  might  accommodate  themselves  to  the 
many  varying  conditions  influencing  them  throughout  the 
earth,  and  form  and  transform  themselves  accordingly,  so 
that  “ genus  can  change  to  species,  species  to  variety,  and 
under  other  conditions  varieties  can  change  ad  infinitum; 
....  and  yet  those  farthest  separated  from  each  other 
have  a pronounced  relationship.”  § 

Unb  mnjufdjaffen  baö  ©cfd^affne, 

®amit  i'icf)’$  nidjt  jum  Starren  roaffne, 

SBirft  eroigeö,  lebenb’ges  &nn. 


@3  foll  fid^  regen,  fcfjaffenb  l)anbdn, 

@rft  fic^  geftalten,  bann  nermanbeln; 

9htr  [djeinbar  ftef;t’ö  Momente  [tiH.  fl 

* Geschichte  meines  botanischen  Studiums  (NS.,  vi.,  390  /.)• 
f NS.,  vi.,  117. 

t Italienische  Reise,  Padua,  Sept.  27,  17S6. 

§ NS.,  vi.,  120  f. 

||  To  metamorphose  the  creation, 

Lest  rest  become  complete  Stagnation, 


Gbe  IRaturalist 


107 

In  this  respect  it  was  naturally  impossible  for  Goethe, 
the  unitary  thinker,  to  make  any  distinction  between  plants 
and  animals.  He  had  recognised,  rather,  that  “when  one 
eonsiders  plants  and  animals  in  their  most  rudimentary  stage 
they  are  hardly  to  be  distinguished.  A nucleus,  stationary, 
locomotive,  or  semi-locomotive,  is  what  our  senses  are  able 
to  perceive,  and  that  with  difficulty.  ...  But  thus  much 
may  be  said,  that  the  creatures  gradually  evolving  as 
plants  and  animals  out  of  a relation  in  which  it  is  scarcely 
possible  to  draw  a separating  line  between  them  develop 
toward  perfection  in  two  opposite  directions,  so  that  in  the 
end  the  plant  culminates  in  a tree,  enduring  and  stationary, 
while  the  animal  reaches  its  highest  degree  of  locomotion 
and  freedom  in  its  crowning  representative,  man.” *  * More- 
over Goethe  did  not  consider  that  in  man  the  process  of  Cre- 
ation had  been  definitely  finished.  “ Who  knows,”  he  once 
said,  “but  that,  after  all,  the  complete  man  only  indicates 
an  aim  at  a still  higher  mark?  ”f  On  the  other  hand,  he 
often  refers  to  the  common  origin  of  man  and  the  animals,  as, 
for  example,  after  mentioning  the  hollow  spaces  in  the 
human  skull,  the  frontal  sinuses,  he  continues:  “In  this 

case  the  question  Why?  would  not  lead  very  far,  whereas 
the  question  How?  teaches  me  that  these  cavities  are  the 
remnants  of  the  animal  skull,  whieh  are  found  larger  in  pro- 
portion  in  rudimentary  organisations,  but  in  man,  in  spite 
of  his  high  development,  have  not  been  entirely  lost.”  J 
If  we  compare  Goethe’s  general  Statements  conceming 
the  transformation  of  organic  natures  with  his  observations 
on  individual  genera  of  animals,  such  as  are  found,  for  exam- 
ple, in  his  essays  Die  Faultiere  und  die  Dickhäutigen  and  Die 
Skelette  der  Nagetiere , we  find  that  they  will  admit  of  no 

Eternal,  living  motion  works. 

This  endless  force,  itself  exerting, 

Creating  forms  and  these  Converting, 

Doth  only  seem  at  times  to  rest. 

— From  Eins  und  Alles  (W.,  iii.,  81). 

* NS.,  vi.,  13. 

t Biedermann,  Goethes  Gespräche , ii. , 263. 

t Eckermann,  Gespräche,  ii.,  19 1. 


io8 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


other  interpretation  than  that  he  assumed  a real  blood  and 
ancestral  relationship  of  genera  and  species.  An  interesting 
passage  bearing  on  this  point  is  a remark  which  he  made 
in  his  essay  Fossiler  Stier  conceming  some  discovered  fossil 
bones,  out  of  which  it  was  possible  to  reconstruct  the  skele- 
ton  of  an  extinct  species  of  gigantic  ox:  “ In  any  case  this 

ancient  creature  may  be  considered  a widely  distributed 
extinct  parent  stock  of  which  the  common  ox  and  the  zebu 
may  be  looked  upon  as  descendants.”  If  we  but  follow  out 
Goethe’s  discovery  of  the  intermaxillary,  the  idea  which  led 
him  to  it,  and  his  frequent  utterances  conceming  it,  to  the 
logical  conclusion,  we  are  forcibly  convinced  that  his  work- 
ing hypothesis  was  essentially  that  embodied  in  the  theory 
of  descent.  His  philosophy  of  the  world  in  general  allowed 
him  no  choice.  In  this  respect  there  are  but  two  possible 
hypotheses : either  the  species  originated  essentially  as  they 
are  through  an  act  of  creation,  or  they  have  developed  out 
of  one  or  a few  archetypes  to  the  diversity  now  filling  the 
earth.  But  one  act  of  creation  would  not  suffice;  for  the 
palaeontological  remains,  which  Goethe  knew  and  valued  at 
their  true  worth,  teach  us  that  innumerable  genera  of  former 
periods  became  extinct,  “were  unable  to  perpetuate  them- 
selves  by  vital  propagation.”  * Then,  as  it  is  practically 
certain  that  the  now  living  species  did  not  then  exist,  one 
who  does  not  assume  a repetition  of  Creative  acts  is  forced 
to  the  logical  conclusion  that  the  living  species  are  descend- 
ants of  extinct  species. 

There  is  still  another  great  principle  which  plays  an  im- 
portant röle  in  Goethe’s  thought,  and  which  makes  him 
appear  to  us  a believer  in  the  theory  of  descent,  and  hence 
a forerunner  of  Darwin.  Natura  non  facit  saltum  is  a very 
old  saying,  which  is  offen  quoted,  but  was  formerly  little 
considered,  as  is  shown,  for  example,  by  the  theorv  of  cata- 
clysms.  Goethe  was  the  first  to  raise  it  to  a principle  of 
research,  and  to  apply  it  on  a grand  scale  to  the  question 
here  under  consideration.  “ Nature  can  achieve  everything 
that  she  desires  to  make  onlv  by  a continuous  series  of 

* NS.,  vi.,  185. 


£be  Iftaturalist 


109 


gradations.  She  never  breaks  the  continuity  of  the  series. 
For  example,  she  could  not  make  a horse,  if  all  other  ani- 
mals  did  not  precede,  upon  which  she  mounts,  as  by  a lad- 
der,  to  the  structure  of  the  horse.”  * 

Goethe  carried  this  idea  over  to  the  positive  and  in  this 
form  calls  it  the  fundamental  principle  of  continuity.  This 
principle  is  the  foundation  of  all  his  scientific  research.  He 
knows  no  other  norm  of  action  in  nature  than  that  charac- 
terised  by  continuity,  and  even  his  geological  views  are 
based  entirely  on  the  principle  of  continuity.  “ I have  con- 
tinued  my  observations  on  plants  and  insects,”  he  wrote  to 
Schiller,  on  the  3oth  of  July,  1796,  “and  have  been  very 
happy  in  them.  I find  that  if  one  has  rightly  grasped  the 
fundamental  principle  of  continuity  and  can  use  it  with  ease 
one  needs  nothing  further  to  make  discoveries  and  to  present 
one’s  views  on  organic  nature.”  On  the  ioth  of  August  he 
wrote : “I  am  more  than  ever  convinced  that  one  can  arrive 

at  an  excellent  understanding  of  organic  nature  by  means 
of  the  conception  of  continuity.” 

In  this  Goethe  showred  a truly  mathematical  sense,  and 
it  is  only  a different  expression  of  the  same  trend  of  mind 
that  he  everywhere  seeks  after  transitions.  Indeed,  as  he 
says,  his  natural  tum  of  mind  forces  him  to  consider  all 
natural  phenomena  in  a certain  sequence  of  development, 
and  to  follow  attentively  the  transitional  stages  forward 
and  backward.  Likewise  we  have  heard  him  say,  in  praise 
of  the  plastic  works  of  antique  art,  that  even  in  them  the 
transitions  are  not  lacking  (p.  100).  “What  a chasm,”  he 
exclaims  in  his  first  scientific  treatise,  “ between  the  os  inter- 
maxillare of  the  tortoise  and  that  of  the  elephant ! And  yet 
it  is  possible  to  imagine  a series  of  intermediate  forms  con- 
necting  the  two.”  Judging  by  what  has  thus  far  been  said, 
is  it  likely  that  Goethe,  who  could  not  make  the  application 
of  the  conception  of  development  broad  enough,  should, 
with  respect  to  the  existence  of  the  whole  of  the  plant  and 
animal  world,  have  found  satisf action  in  the  hypothesis  of 
isolated  processes? 

* Riemer,  Briefe  von  und  an  Goethe,  311. 


HO 


JLbc  Xite  of  (Soetbe 


It  is  admitted  in  many  quarters  that  at  least  near  the 
end  of  his  life  Goethe  arrived  at  a clear  conception  of  the 
idea  of  descent,  and  that  in  the  last  scientific  work  of  his 
life,  his  review  of  the  remarkable  controversy  between 
Cuvier  and  Geoffroy  de  Saint-Hilaire,  he  gave  expression 
to  the  idea  by  placing  himself  uncompromisingly  on  the  side 
of  the  latter.  But  if  that  is  true  it  is  no  less  true  that  these 
ideas  had  long  been  his  own,  for  we  have  his  testimony: 
“ This  event  is  for  me  one  of  altogether  incredible  value,  and 
I have  a right  to  rejoice  that  I have  finally  lived  to  witness 
the  general  victory  of  a cause  to  which  I have  devoted  my 
whole  life,  and  which  is  pre-eminently  my  cause.”  In  speak- 
ing  with  reference  to  Herder’s  Ideen  zur  Geschichte  der 
Menschheit , which  as  we  know  was  in  part  the  product  of  his 
own  mind,  he  said:  “Our  daily  conversation  was  occupied 

with  the  very  beginnings  of  the  water-earth  and  the  organic 
creatures  that  have  been  developing  upon  it  since  the  earliest 
times.  The  very  beginning  and  the  ceaseless  continuation 
through  development  were  always  talked  about  and  our  sci- 
entific knowledge  wras  daily  clarified  and  enriched  by  mutual 
Communications  and  oppositions.” 

For  the  Variation  and  transformation  of  species  Goethe 
assigns  the  same  reasons  as  those  set  forth  by  the  modern 
theory  of  evolution,  viz.,  adaptation,  use  and  disuse  of  Or- 
gans, and  inheritance;  and  ecen  for  the  catchword  “struggle 
for  existence” — not  only  in  the  sense  of  a struggle  of  organ- 
isms  with  their  environment,  but  also  in  the  sense  of  a com- 
petition  of  organisms  among  themselves  for  the  conditions 
of  existence,  and  the  resulting  victory  of  one  and  defeat  of 
the  other — he  finds  an  excellent  equivalent:  “ Everything 
that  comes  into  being  seeks  room  for  itself  and  desires  dura- 
tion;  hence  it  crowds  another  out  of  its  place  and  shortens 
its  duration.”  * So  the  poet  also  makes  Prometheus,  the 
fashioner  of  men,  who  must  have  known  about  it,  say : 

©enn  foldjeg  ßo$>  bem  Sftenfdjen  nhe  bcn  iicreti  roarb, 
üftad)  bercn  Urbilb  id)  mir  ÜBeffreö  bilbcte, 

©afi  ein£  bcm  artbcnt,  einzeln  ober  aud)  gefdjart, 

* NS.,  xi.,  156;  Sprüche  in  Prosa,  No.  981. 


Gbe  IRaturaliöt 


in 


<&id)  roiberfe^t,  jidj  Ijaffenb  aneinanbcr  brängt, 
eins  betn  anbern  Übermacht  betätigte.  * 

The  forces  of  formation  and  transformation  do  not  reside 
alone  in  environment ; they  are  to  be  found  first  of  all  in  the 
organisms  themselves.  That  the  laws  which  reign  and  ope- 
rate  in  inorganic  nature  do  not  off  er  an  adequate  explanation 
of  organic  nature  could  be  denied  only  by  an  age  which  was 
forced  to  assume  the  röle  of  most  extreme  reaction  from  the 
extravagances  and  vagaries  of  a recent  past.  Since  that 
time  Science  has  approached  more  and  more  the  point  of 
view  of  Goethe  in  the  tendency  to  recognise  laws  of  forma- 
tion. The  “formative  impulse”  reigning  in  organic  nature 
is,  however,  limited  in  its  operations  by  the  counterpoise 
given  to  it  in  the  mutual  influence  of  parts. 

©odj  im  Snncrn  fefjeint  ein  ©eift  gewaltig  31t  ringen, 

SGSie  er  burd)bräd)c  ben  &rei$,  SBillfitr  311  fdjaffen  ben  gönnen,  f 

But  these  are  the  limitations  of  organic  nature,  and  in 
the  principle  of  mutual  influence  of  parts  Goethe  again  pro- 
pounded  a leading  idea,  to  which  he  continually  referred, 
and  which  Science  has  completely  adopted  as  its  own. 
Through  its  limitation  of  modification  the  mutual  influence 
of  parts  itself  represents  in  turn  a factor  of  formation  and 
transformation,  since  “ the  formation  itself  must  be  brought 
forth  and  determined  by  a mutual  influence,  both  in  its  con- 
forming  to  the  unity  of  type  and  in  its  variations  from  the 
type.”  | Economic  nature  has  prescribed  for  her  use  a cer- 
tain  budget,  according  to  which,  in  all  her  modifications  of 
form,  nothing  can  be  given  to  one  part  that  is  not  taken 
from  another.  Such  is  the  gist  of  Goethe’s  many  utterances 
on  this  point.  Is  this  not  the  highest  manifestation  of  the 
principle  of  Conservation  of  energy? 

* The  lot  vouchsafed  to  man  is  that  bestowed  on  beasts, 

Upon  whose  archetype  I have  myself  improved: 

It  is  that  one  oppose  the  other,  all  alone, 

Or  eise  in  troops,  and  foe  press  foe  with  grinding  hate, 

Till  stronger  over  weaker  brutal  triumph  gain. 
t Cf.  vol.  ii.,  p.  160,  where  a translation  is  given. 

X NS->  viii.,  75. 


112 


Zhe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


From  the  wealth  of  material  in  Goethe’s  Morphologie  we 
must  mention  here  one  more  discovery,  the  so-called  verte- 
bral theory  of  the  skull.  As  a result  of  his  faithful  and  dili- 
gent  study  of  vegetable  metamorphosis,  says  Goethe,  the 
year  1790  had  in  störe  for  him  a new  view  conceming  the 
animal  Organisation  which  pleased  and  satisfied  him.  It 
was  an  idea,  analagous  to  the  metamorphosis  of  plants,  that 
in  the  higher  animal  world  the  skull  is  a modified  section  of 
the  vertebral  column.  He  had  earlier  recognised  the  verte- 
bral form  of  the  occipital  bones,  but  it  was  not  until  1790, 
during  his  sojoum  in  Venice,  that,  as  a result  of  a happy 
accident,  he  thought  he  perceived  that  the  bones  of  the  face 
are  likewise  to  be  derived  from  vertebrae.  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  the  latter  inference  has  proved  to  be  erroneous,  and 
that  Goethe  did  not  go  more  deeply  into  the  question  of  the 
vertebral  nature  of  the  occipital  bones,  which  is  accepted  as 
a fact,  nevertheless  the  idea  itself  has  been  extraordinarily 
fruitful  in  its  influence  on  the  investigation  of  the  skeleton  of 
the  head. 

Goethe’s  earliest  scientific  activity  was  in  the  field  of 
mineralogy  and  geology.  Soon  after  his  arrival  in  Weimar 
he  prepared  himself,  on  his  wanderings  through  Thuringia, 
while  “living  in  chasms,  caves,  and  forests,  in  ponds  and 
under  waterfalls,  with  the  subterrestrials,”  for  serious  scien- 
tific work,  to  which  was  added  a practical  interest  when  the 
plan  arose  of  improving  the  old  Ilmenau  mines,  and  he  was 
officially  entrusted  with  the  undertaking,  to  which  he  de- 
voted  such  faithful  efforts.  To  these  Sciences  he  had  soon 
“yielded  himself  with  a perfect  passion.”  Mineralogy  was 
for  him,  however,  but  an  auxiliary  Science  to  geology,  which 
he  called  the  skeleton  of  the  earth.  To  Count  Stemberg  he 
wrote,  “ My  whole  Salvation  comes  from  the  geological  side,” 
adding  that  he  had  already  been  travelling  this  road  for 
many  years.  The  investigation  of  the  earth’s  crust  in  the 
region  of  his  beloved  Karlsbad  and  Bohemia  was,  from  the 
beginning  of  his  acquaintance  with  that  part  of  the  world 
tili  the  end  of  his  life,  very  dear  to  his  heart.  In  general  he 
always  held  the  view  which  he  had  early  formed  that  granite 


Gbe  maturaltet  113 

is  the  solid  foundation  of  the  earth,  as  he  asserts  in  his  highly 
poetic  essay  Uber  den  Granit  * 

At  the  time  when  Goethe  became  absorbed  in  this  Science 
geologists  were  divided  into  two  hostile  camps,  the  Nep- 
tunists  and  the  Vulcanists.  Against  the  latter’s  “abomi- 
nable  lumber-room  of  the  new  creation  of  the  world,”  which 
was  irreconcilable  writh  his  sense  of  continuity,  he  hurled 
most  violent  invectives  and  a great  many  biting  lampoons, 
especially  in  the  Second  Part  of  Faust.  This,  together  with 
his  many  confessions  that  anything  in  the  nature  of  violence 
or  an  interruption  of  continuity  was  odious  to  him, — for  it 
is  not  according  to  nature — and  that  he  “ held  in  abomina- 
nation  all  explanations  by  violence,”  has  led  men  to  consider 
him  a Neptunist.  But  in  doing  this  they  confuse  the  Vul- 
canists with  volcanism.  His  declaration  of  war  was  not  a 
general  one  against  the  co-operation  of  volcanic  forces  in 
the  formation  of  the  earth’s  surface — for  example,  he  him- 
self  declared  that  at  least  in  its  origin  the  Kammerberg,  near 
Eger,  about  which  he  wrote  several  articles,  was  volcanic; 
it  was  directed,  rather,  against  the  extreme  Vulcanists,  who 
asserted  that  great  mountain  chains,  such  as  the  Pyrenees 
and  the  Apennines,  arose  suddenly  and  all  at  once  out  of  the 
depths  of  the  fiery,  molten  interior  of  the  earth. 

Goethe  was  by  no  means  an  out-and-out  Neptunist. 
There  was  nothing  that  he  abhorred  more  than  the  dogmas 
of  a “ school,”  when  they  begin  to  become  firmly  established. 
“ The  view  of  the  world  of  all  such  theorists,  whose  whole 
thought  is  in  one  single  direction  exclusively,  has  lost  its 
innocence,  and  objects  no  longer  appear  to  it  in  their 
purity.”  | Goethe  was  hardly  more  of  an  advocate  of  the 
teachings  of  the  Neptunists  than  are  most  geologists  of 
to-day,  in  so  far  as  they  ascribe  to  water  a more  profound 
and  a more  comprehensive  effect  upon  the  formation  of  the 
earth’s  surface  than  to  fire.  It  may  be  said,  rather,  that 
even  in  geology  Goethe’s  leading  principles  are  those  at 
which  more  recent  Science  has  arrived,  that  in  an  explana- 

* NS.,  ix.,  171  ff. 
t Eckermann,  Gespräche , iii.,  37. 

8 


£be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


114 

tion  of  the  formation  of  the  earth’s  surface  all  forces  known 
to  us  and  all  causes  still  active  are  to  be  considered  accord- 
ing  to  their  nature  and  the  degree  to  which  they  are  involved. 
“One  of  the  greatest  rights  and  prerogatives  of  nature,”  he 
says,  “is  to  be  able  to  achieve  the  same  ends  by  different 
means  and  to  occasion  the  same  phenomena  by  many  kinds 
of  relations.”  The  same  forces  that  were  active  in  the  past 
are  constantly  at  work  now.  He  believes  that  “ it  is  possi- 
ble  even  to-day  for  nature  to  form  precious  stones  of  a kind 
unknown  to  us.”  * This  follows  from  the  principle  that 
nature,  “working  slowly  and  quietly,  may  well  produce  the 
extraordinary  ” ; and  the  fancy  of  our  poet  grants  “a  free- 
working  nature,”  even  for  her  local  transformations,  the 
countless  thousands  of  years  which  geology  requires  to  ex- 
plain  them.  He  has  given  us  an  example  of  such  a theory 
of  quiet  processes  in  Die  Luisenburg  bei  Alexandersbad.  It 
is  in  accordance  with  his  view  of  nature  as  working  quietly 
that  his  theory  inclines  more  to  the  Chemical  than  to  the 
mechanical,  that  he  deduces  the  heat  of  the  interior  of  the 
earth  from  Chemical  and  electrical  action,  and  ascribes  even 
the  temperature  of  hot  Springs  to  Chemical  causes.  In  this 
regard  he  Stands  by  no  means  alone.  In  this  instance,  for 
example,  he  agrees  with  Charles  Lyell,  the  reformer  of 
modern  geology. 

What  broad  and  unobstructed  views  Goethe  revealed  in 
geology  is  shown  by  the  significance  which  he  prophesied 
geology  would  some  day  attach  to  fossils,  which  were  then 
just  beginning  to  be  studied.  On  the  2yth  of  October,  1782, 
he  wrote  to  Merck:  “ All  the  remains  of  bones  of  which  you 

speak,  and  which  are  found  everywhere  in  the  upper  sand 
of  the  earth,  are,  as  I am  fully  convinced,  from  the  most 
recent  age,  which,  however,  in  comparison  with  our  usual 
method  of  reckoning  time,  is  exceedingly  old.  In  that  age 
the  sea  had  already  receded,  but  the  rivers  were  still  very 
broad.  ...  At  that  time  elephants  and  rhinoceroses  were 
at  home  with  us  on  the  exposed  mountains  and  hills,  and 
their  remains  could  very  easily  be  washed  down  by  forest 

* NS.,  x..  87. 


£be  IRaturalist 


JI5 


streams  into  those  great  river  valleys  or  sea-levels  where, 
more  or  less  impregnated  with  stony  matter,  they  were  pre- 
served,  and  where  we  now  tum  them  out  with  the  plow  or 
bring  them  to  light  in  some  other  accidental  way.  . . . The 
time  will  soon  come  when  fossils  will  no  longer  be  a mass  of 
confusion,  but  will  be  arranged  to  correspond  in  general  to 
the  ages  of  the  world.” 

These  are  truly  prophetic  words,  which  have  found  their 
complete  fulfilment  in  Science.  Petrifactions  afford  geolo- 
gists  the  best  means  of  distinguishing  and  determining  rock 
strata  and  of  systematising  the  geological  ages.  Hence  we 
may  say  that,  judging  by  the  historical  documents  wdiich  we 
possess,  Goethe  was  actually  the  first  man  who  recognised 
the  great  importance  to  geology  of  those  petrified  remains 
of  former  ages,  while  the  Wernerian  sehool,  on  the  other 
hand,  failed  to  see  any  significance  in  them.  According  to 
all  appearances  Goethe  was  also  the  first  man  who,  in  ex- 
planation  of  the  long  stone  drifts,  the  moraines,  such  as,  for 
example,  the  group  near  Thonon,  which  “ fill  us  with  amaze- 
ment,”  expressed  the  view  that  in  a former  age  the  Swiss  gla- 
ciers  extended  down  to  Lake  Geneva;17  and  he  was  certainly 
the  first  man  who,  with  perfect  definiteness  and  full  confi- 
dence  in  its  reality,  repeatedly  promulgated  the  idea  that 
there  was  once  an  “ age  of  great  cold,”  that  is  to  say  an  ice 
age,  which,  as  we  know,  plays  a great  röle  in  geology  and 
palasontology.  Hence  our  poet  deserves  a prominent  place 
in  the  history  of  geology. 

What  Goethe  wrote  on  geology  is  little  when  compared 
with  what  he  planned.  Apart  from  a few  articles  that  ap- 
peared  in  the  years  1807-1809,  it  was  not  until  1820  that  he 
began  to  publish  what  he  wrote.  Geology  was  not  his  ulti- 
mate  aim  in  the  study  of  the  earth ; it  was  merely  a starting- 
point.  He  entertained  in  his  mind  no  less  a project  than 
the  writing  of  a general  history  of  nature,  a kind  of  cosmos. 
The  disposition  * of  the  material,  which  has  been  preserved , 
shows,  in  spite  of  the  gaps  in  it,  how  magnificently  he  had 
planned  the  work.  It  may  be  that  he  referred  to  this  plan 
* Bildung  der  Erde  (NS.,  ix.,  268  ff.). 


Zbc  %\fc  of  (Soetbe 


1 16 

in  several  early  utterances,  as,  for  example,  in  his  letter  to 
Frau  von  Stein  on  the  5th  of  October,  1784,  “I  explained 
to  him  [Fritz]  according  to  my  new  System  the  first  two 
epochs  in  the  formation  of  the  world,”  and  in  his  letter  from 
the  top  of  the  Brenner  on  the  8th  of  September,  1786,  “For 
my  creation  of  the  world  I have  conquered  many  things, 
but  not  altogether  new  and  unexpected  things.” 

In  meteorology  Goethe  was  not  so  felicitous  as  in  his 
ideas  and  works  on  the  three  kingdoms  of  nature.  His  inter- 
est  in  this  Science,  whieh  was  at  that  time  still  in  the  rudi- 
mentary  stage,  was  profound  and  was  probably  affected 
by  his  sensitiveness  to  the  changes  in  the  condition  of  the 
atmosphere.  He  suffered  to  an  unusual  degree  under  the 
inclemencies  of  the  weather  and  belonged,  finally,  to  “the 
few  men  who  have  an  immediate  feeling  of  the  state  of  the 
barometer.”  He  provided  himself  with  barometer  and 
thermometer  and  evidently  began  early  the  study  of  com- 
parative  meteorology.  For  example,  he  wrote  from  Rome 
requesting  that  the  record  of  the  weather  in  Weimar  during 
his  absence  be  copied  for  him  from  the  “ Weather  Observa- 
tion Museum”  of  Dr.  Siewer  in  Upper  Weimar.*  But,  as 
he  says  himself,  it  was  impossible  for  his  nature  to  grasp,  or 
be  interested  in  any  way  in,  the  whole  complex  of  meteor- 
ological  data  as  they  are  represented  in  tables  by  means  of 
figures  and  signs.f  Only  after  he  had  become  acquainted 
with  Howard’s  scientific  nomenclature  for  the  cloud  forma- 
tions  whieh  had  earliest  interested  him  did  he  feel  that  he 
had  a fixed  point  of  departure,  and  he  gladly  grasped  the 
offered  thread.  He  now  compared  the  cloud  forms  with 
the  readings  of  the  thermometer  and  from  the  latter  was 
able  to  guess  the  former.  As  a matter  of  fact,  as  Science 
has  progressed,  it  has  paid  more  and  more  attention  to 
these  ephemeral  forms  in  Connection  with  atmospheric 
phenomena,  and  has  attributed  more  and  more  significanee 
to  them.  To  the  terminology  of  Howard,  whieh  has  been 
retained  up  to  the  present  time,  Goethe  added  a new  member, 

* SGG.,  ii. , 230. 

t Wolkengestalt  nach  Howard  {NS.,  xii.,  7). 


Gbe  IRaturalist 


ii  7 


which  he  calls  paries,  wall,  which  was  adopted  by  Kämtz 
in  his  voluminous  Lehrbuch  der  Meteorologie  (1831),  but  has 
not  found  its  way  into  the  more  recent  text-books  on  the 
subject.  It  was  entirely  out  of  the  question  to  accept  with 
approval  the  hypothesis  which  Goethe  set  up  in  explanation 
of  the  variations  of  the  atmospheric  pressure,  upon  which, 
as  we  know,  meteorological  conditions  essentially  depend. 
He  assumed  that  the  gravitation  of  the  earth  is  not  constant, 
but  changeable  and  pulsating,  as  a result  of  which  the  at- 
traction  on  the  atmosphere,  and  hence  the  pressure  of  the 
latter,  increases  at  times  and  at  times  diminishes.  This 
hypothesis,  which  Goethe  first  published  in  his  Italienische 
Reise  in  1816,  and  then  often  repeated  in  his  meteorological 
essays  from  1820  on,  cannot  well  be  made  to  harmonise  with 
our  physical  conceptions. 

Nevertheless  Goethe’s  work  in  this  field  was  not  in  vain. 
If  meteorology  has  since  his  time  advanced  extraordinarily 
this  advance  is  due  in  no  slight  measure  to  the  network  of 
meteorological  stations  reaching  out  farther  and  farther 
over  the  earth ; and  so  it  is  no  more  than  just  to  mention 
the  co-operation  of  our  poet  in  the  erection  of  a number  of 
meteorological  stations  in  the  Grand  Duchy  of  Weimar, 
and  the  fact  that  he  himself  wrote  out  the  instructions  for 
the  observers  placed  in  Charge  of  them.*  When  the  Berlin 
Academy  in  1823  introduced  the  taking  of  meteorological 
observations  an  invitation  was  sent  to  the  Weimar  institu- 
tions  to  take  part  in  the  undertaking,  and  Goethe  at  that 
time  expressed  in  a letter  the  idea  that  corresponding  ob- 
servations should  be  taken  at  certain  distances  out  on  the 
North  and  Baltic  seas.j 

Of  Goethe’s  theory  of  colours  it  must  be  said  that  it  was 
with  him  a life  work  in  the  highest  sense.  His  writings 
on  this  subject  fill  not  a few  pages  more  than  what  he  wrote 
on  all  other  scientific  subjects  taken  together.  No  one  of 
the  products  of  his  genius  has  he  enveloped  with  warmer 
love  and,  if  we  are  rightly  informed,  he  ranked  this  work 

* NS.,  xii.,  203. 

t Goethes  Briefwechsel  mit  Schultz,  p.  275;  Br.,  xxxvii.,  69. 


1 1 8 


£be  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


far  higher  than  his  poetic  writings.*  To  no  work  did  he 
apply  himself  with  greater  pains  and  in  none  did  he  show 
greater  perseverance.  After  his  Beiträge  zur  Optik,  Erstes 
Stück  and  Zweites  Stück  had  appeared  in  1791  and  1792, 
respectively,  it  took  no  less  than  eighteen  years  of  untiring, 
painstaking  application,  during  part  of  which  time  he  en- 
joyed  the  most  devoted  interest  and  encouragement  of 
Schiller,  the  “ unreplaceable,”  before  his  chief  work,  the 
two- volume  treatise,  was  finally  finished  and  in  print.  Even 
to  his  last  years  he  followed  every  new  phenomenon  with 
the  energy  and  freshness  of  youth  and  sought  to  bring  it 
into  harmony  with  his  earlier  work. 

When  he  finally  held  in  his  hands  the  work  which  had 
weighed  upon  him  like  an  “insolvable  debt,”  he  wrote  to 
Frau  von  Stein  (May  11,  1810):  “I  am  not  sorry  that  I 
have  sacrificed  so  much  time  to  these  studies.  They  have 
been  the  means  of  my  attaining  to  a culture  which  I could 
hardly  have  achieved  in  any  other  way.” 

In  spite  of  the  error  contained  in  it,  this  work  has  created 
a new  culture,  not  alone  for  the  author  himself,  but  for  the 
scientific  and  artistic  world  as  well.  The  Opposition  it  met 
with  was  not  because  of  the  experiments  recorded  in  it, 
which  were  never  questioned  as  to  their  correctness  and 
are  unparalleled  in  their  variety,  but  because  of  the  physical 
interpretation  of  them.  The  error  in  the  work  has  not  re- 
tarded  Science;  the  truth  in  it  has  not  only  advanced  Science, 
it  has  even  become  the  foundation  of  a new  Science,  that  of 
physiological  optics,  of  which  our  poet  must  be  looked  upon 
as  the  originator.  He  has  opened  our  minds  to  a sphere  of 
human  observations  hitherto  but  little  considered.  Scien- 
tists  before  him  had  hardly  attempted  to  discover  the  laws 
of  visual  processes  in  their  relation  to  light  and  colour. 
Goethe  was  the  first  man  to  reduce  to  a scientific  formula  the 
phenomena  of  colourless  and  coloured  after-images,  of  sue- 
cessive  and  simultaneous  contrast.  The  description  of 
these  delicate  phenomena,  their  origin  and  gradual  sub- 
sidence, — for  which  he  coined  the  suggestive  expression 
* Eckermann,  Gespräche,  ii. , 59. 


Gbe  IRaturaliet 


119 

Abklingen  (colour  reverberation*) — the  theory  of  coloured 
shadows,  about  which  he  wrote  a separate  treatise,t  and 
many  other  details  which  throw  a great  deal  of  light  on 
visual  phenomena,  form  the  first  part  of  the  Didaktischer 
Teil  of  the  work,  to  which  he  gave  the  subtitle  Physiolo- 
gische Farben. 

The  fundamental  idea  of  this  part  of  the  work  is  that 
it  is  the  nature  of  the  eye  to  demand  brightness  when  dark- 
ness  is  offered  it,  and  to  demand  darkness  when  it  is  con- 
fronted  by  light  (§38).  Likewise  when  a colour  is  offered 
it  it  demands  the  opposite  colour.  For  example,  yellow 
demands  violet,  orange  blue,  purple  green,  and  vice  versa 
(§50).  These  demanded  colours  are  a product  of  the  eye 
and  belong  to  it  entirely;  there  is  nothing  like  them  cor- 
responding  to  them  in  the  outer  world . The  discovery  of 
this  law  of  visual  processes  has  macle  Goethe’s  name  one  of 
the  most  prominent  in  connection  with  the  latest  develop- 
ment of  the  physiology  of  colours,  which  is  more  and  more 
taking  the  place  of  the  Young-Helmholtz  theory.  The  new 
theory  is  based  on  the  law  of  antagonistic  colours,  according 
to  which  there  are  four  fundamental  colour  sensations, 
which  go  together  in  pairs:  yellow  and  blue,  red  and  green. 
In  addition  to  these  there  is  a black-white  Sensation,  as 
Goethe  had  also  maintained.  To  be  sure,  the  colours  are 
here  and  there  differently  designated,  as  a natural  conse- 
quence  of  a certain  difference  of  conception,  but  in  essence 
Goethe’s  theory  and  the  new  one  are  the  same,  as  will  be 
apparent  later  on. 

Goethe  was  perfectly  conscious  of  the  importance  of 
“ physiological  ” colours.  He  teils  us  in  the  first  paragraph 
that  they  “form  the  foundation  of  the  whole  theory.”  At 
the  same  time  they  give  us  an  insight  into  the  cause  of  the 
error  into  which  he  feil  in  the  field  of  physical  colours. 

His  Classification  included  a third  group,  the  Chemical 
colours. 

* Professor  Frank  Angell  has  suggested  to  me  this  translation  of  Ab- 
klingen.— C. 

t Von  den  farbigen  Schatten  (NS.,  vi.,  101  ff.). 


I 20 


Gbe  Xi fe  of  (Boetbe 


The  world  of  colours  had  not  captivated  him  solely  by 
virtue  of  the  charms  with  whieh  they  envelop  nature.  As 
he  offen  confessed,  his  point  of  departure  was  picturesque 
colouring.  He  desired  to  find  the  law  of  artistic  harmony, 
colour  harmony,  and  in  the  colour  splendour  of  nature  in  Italy 
and  of  the  temples  of  art  in  Rome  this  desire  grew  to  be  a pas- 
sion.  Now  we  know  that  it  is  not  the  province  of  the  painter, 
and  that  it  by  no  means  lies  within  his  power,  to  imitate  the 
colour  of  objects  in  nature,  either  in  quality  or  in  degree. 
It  is  his  task  to  produce  the  impression  which  these  objects 
make  upon  the  eye  of  the  observer.  It  is  well  known  what 
a röle  the  distribution  of  light  and  shade  plays  in  the  works 
of  painters,  in  that  it  not  only  helps  to  accomplish  the  Illu- 
sion of  corporeal  form,  but  also  helps  to  determine  the 
tone  given  to  the  whole  picture.  The  reproduction  of 
the  relation  of  brightnesses  is  one  of  the  chief  tasks  of  the 
painter.  Limited  by  the  colour  materials  at  his  command 
and  by  the  illumination  in  wdiich  paintings  are  usually  seen, 
it  is  necessary,  for  example,  in  the  case  of  simple  landscape 
subjects,  where  the  relation  Stands  out  most  clearly,  to  use 
the  yellow  and  yellowish  red  for  the  light,  as  Goethe  says, 
and  the  blue  and  bluish  red  for  the  shade.*  Parallel  with 
this  contrast  of  light  and  shade  runs,  then,  the  contrast  of 
warm  and  cold  colours — a technical  term  coined  by  painters 
to  indicate  the  effect  of  colours  on  the  observer — and  hence 
one  is  tempted  to  think  that  Goethe  may  have  gained  from 
his  Observation  of  works  of  art  his  fundamental  view  that, 
physically  considered,  colour  arises  from  the  reciprocal 
action  of  light  and  shade,  of  brightness  and  darkness,  of 
light  and  the  absence  of  light,  and  that  there  are  only  two 
pure  colours,  yellow  and  blue.  But  as  light  and  the  absence 
of  light  are  nothing  but  light,  it  follows,  in  the  Goethian 
sense,  that  colour  arises  from  the  weakening  or  softening 
of  light  (§312).  And  for  this  he  found  a confirmation  in 
turn  in  a physiological  phenomenon  which  he  describes  very 
vividly,  namely,  that  the  Abklingen  of  a dazzling,  colourless 
image,  when  the  eye,  after  observing  it,  is  tumed  to  a dark 


* Campagne  in  Frankreich  (W.,  xxxiii.,  260). 


Ebe  IRaturalist 


I 2 I 


place  in  the  room,  is  accompanied  by  colour  phenomena. 
For  here  the  eye  produces  colours  of  itself,  merely  by  a 
weakening  of  the  impression  which  it  has  received  through 
a strong  illumination. 

Since,  however,  in  the  outer  world  shade  or  gray  arises 
merely  by  the  cutting  off  or  the  softening  of  light,  another 
specific  cause  must  enter  into  the  production  of  colours, 
and  this  Goethe  finds  in  translucent  media.  If  one  looks 
at  a bright,  colourless  light  through  a translucent  medium 
the  light  appears  yellow,  and  as  the  opacity  of  the  medium 
increases  the  colour  changes  to  yellowish  red  and  then  to 
ruby.  “ If,  on  the  other  hand,  one  looks  at  darkness 
through  a translucent  medium  illuminated  by  a light  falling 
on  it,  one  sees  a blue  colour,  which  becomes  brighter  and 
paler  as  the  opacity  of  the  medium  increases,  but  darker 
and  more  saturated  as  the  medium  becomes  more  trans- 
parent. With  the  smallest  degree  of  opacity  short  of  perfect 
transparency  the  most  beautiful  violet  becomes  perceptible 
to  the  eye”  (§150/.).  The  most  magnificent  example  of  the 
effect  of  translucent  media  presented  itself  to  him  in  the 
atmosphere  and  the  blue  of  the  sky,  and  Goethe  was  probably 
the  only  man  of  his  time  who  held  the  view  of  this  phe- 
nomenon  which  has  recently  been  confirmed  as  the  correct 
one. 

What  an  important  factor  in  painting  is  aerial  perspec- 
tive, the  artistic  representation  of  aerial  light,  which  shows 
such  a variety  of  gradations,  according  to  the  degree  of 
opacity  of  the  air,  and  causes  objects  themselves  to  appear 
in  such  finely  shaded  tones!  In  Italy  Goethe  did  not  fail 
“to  observe  the  splendour  of  atmospheric  colours,  which 
afforded  striking  examples  of  most  distinct  gradation  of 
aerial  perspective,  and  of  the  blueness  of  distance,  as  well 
as  of  near  shadows.”*  In  his  Farbenlehre  he  repeatedly 
makes  the  assertion  that  aerial  perspective  is  based  on  the 
theory  of  translucent  media.  The  sky,  distant  objects, 
even  near  shadows  appear  to  us  blue.  At  the  same  time, 
the  illuminating  object  and  the  object  illuminated  appear 
* Confession  des  Verfassers  {NS.,  iv.,  291). 


122 


Gbe  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


to  us  in  shades  varying  all  the  way  from  yellow  to  purple 
(§872).  He  recognised  also  the  relation  between  the  action 
of  the  ground  of  paintings  on  the  painter’s  colours  and  the 
laws  of  colours  of  translucent  media  (§172),  and  it  requires 
but  a generalisation  to  characterise  the  phenomena  in 
Connection  with  translucent  media  as  the  “primitive  phe- 
nomenon”  ( Urphänomen ) of  the  theory  of  colours.  It  is 
perfectly  obvious  that  we  may  call  all  media  translucent, 
since  no  absolutely  transparent  medium  is  known.  “ Em- 
pirically  considered,  even  the  most  transparent  medium 
contains  the  slightest  degree  of  opacity”  (§148).  And  so 
Goethe  teils  us  on  every  page  that  “the  whole  theory  of 
colours  rests  on  the  pure  conception  of  the  translucent,” 
and  this  “primitive  phenomenon”  is  the  very  comer  stone 
of  the  theory.  Even  though  we  are  unable  to  perceive 
herein  the  finality  of  experience,  or  to  ascribe  to  it  the 
character  of  the  “ inscrutable,”  nevertheless  Goethe  has 
caused  more  attention  to  be  paid  to  these  phenomena  and 
has  provoked  more  careful  investigation  of  them,  and  his 
own  observations  in  the  field  have  permanent  value  in 
themselves. 

It  is  only  natural  that  Goethe  should  have  employed 
the  same  principle  to  explain  the  spectral  colours,  those 
colours  which  appear  when  white  or  colourless  light  is  re- 
fracted  by  a prism;  and  herein  lies  the  secret  of  the  difference 
between  his  theory  and  the  Newtonian  theory,  which  he 
combated  all  his  life,  with  a passion  which  at  times  vented 
itself  in  very  unjust  accusations.  The  Polemischer  Teil 
of  the  Farbenlehre  is  devoted  to  this  controversy. 

Newton  believed  that  he  was  forced  to  draw  from  his 
experiments  the  conclusion  that  these  colours  are  not  pro- 
duced  by  a particular  quality  of  the  prism,  but  arise  from 
light  itself,  which  consists  of  different  kinds  of  light,  per- 
ceived  by  us  as  so  many  different  colours  and  distinguished 
only  by  their  refrangibility.  Goethe,  on  the  other  hand, 
ascribes  to  the  substance  of  the  prism,  in  so  far  as  it  is  a 
translucent  medium,  a specific  effect,  but  in  order  to  explain 
the  phenomenon  of  the  spectrum  he  is  forced  to  bolster  up 


Zbe  IRaturalist 


123 


his  theory  by  resorting  to  many  other  hypotheses  which  are 
physically  difficult  to  comprehend.  According  to  Newton, 
then,  colours  come  from  light,  they  are  contained  in  it, 
and  hence  white  light  is  composed  of  different  kinds  of 
light,  each  of  which,  as  a part  of  the  whole,  is  darker  than 
light.  In  reply  to  this  Goethe  would  ask  the  question, 
Can  there  be  a more  awkward  error  than  the  assertion  that 
pure,  clear,  unclouded  light  is  composed  of  dark  lights  ? * 
Light  is,  rather,  “the  most  simple,  most  indivisible,  most 
homogeneous  thing  we  know.”  This  corresponds  to  our 
Sensation;  diverse  refrangibility  is  a delusion. 

Newton  shows  that  if  any  separate  part,  that  is,  any  one 
of  the  kinds  of  light  composing  the  spectrum,  is  made  to 
pass  through  a second  prism,  it  is  again  refracted,  that  is, 
it  appears  in  a higher  or  lower  position;  but  its  colour  re- 
mains  unchanged.  Goethe  questions  this;  after  repeated 
refraction  he  finds  rims  or  borders  of  different  colours.  But 
he  evidently  never  saw  a pure  spectrum,  and  it  was  only  at 
the  middle  of  the  last  Century  that  Helmholtz  finally  suc- 
ceeded  in  separating  entirely  the  colours  of  the  spectrum, 
and  in  demonstrating  their  unchangeableness  when  re- 
fracted. This  Separation  can  be  achieved  only  by  a com- 
bination  of  prisms  and  lenses.  Experiments  of  this  kind 
were  to  have  been  communicated  in  a Supplementärer  Teil 
of  the  Farbenlehre , which,  however,  was  never  published, 
though  Goethe  wrote  something  on  the  subject  and,  in 
1822,  sent  an  essay  dealing  with  it  to  von  Henning.  What 
became  of  the  essay  is  not  known. 

This  lack  of  a pure  spectrum  doubtless  accounts  for  the 
fact  that  Goethe  considered  green  not  a simple,  but  a 
mixed,  colour,  composed  of  yellow  and  blue  in  their  purest 
condition.  As  a matter  of  fact,  however,  it  is  not  possible 
to  produce  green  by  combining  these  pure  prismatic  colours. 

If  the  coloured  lights  which  the  spectrum  of  sunlight 
reveals  to  us  really  exist  in  sunlight  then  the  recombination 
of  them  must  in  tum  produce  a white  image.  Goethe  does 
not  question  the  fact  that,  if  a spectrum  thrown  on  a screen 
* Cf.  Sprüche  in  Prosa,  No.  994;  NS.,  xi.,  96. 


124 


Gbe  Xifc  of  öoetbe 


is  looked  at  through  a prism  at  a certain  distance,  the  eye 
perceives  a “quite  white”  or  colourless  image,  nor  the  fact 
that  the  same  phenomenon  appears  when  the  yellow  and 
the  bluish  red,  or  the  blue  and  the  yellowish  red,  of  the 
Spectrum  are  thrown  on  the  same  spot;  but  he  does  not  see 
the  reason  for  it  in  the  mixing  or  combining  of  these  colours ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  sees  the  reason  in  the  fact,  which  he 
repeatedly  emphasises,  that  they  counteract  or  neutralise 
each  other.  Here  again  Goethe  expresses  an  idea  that  is 
one  of  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  most  recent  theorv 
of  the  physiology  of  colours,  according  to  which  yellow'  and 
blue,  red  and  green,  that  is  to  say,  the  antagonistic,  or,  as 
Goethe  would  say,  the  opposite  or  complementary,  colours 
do  not  mix  in  the  human  eye,  but  rather  destroy  each  other. 
Indeed  one  can  only  understand  Goethe’s  Farbenlehre 
when  one  has  leamed  to  read  it  throughout,  from  beginning 
to  end,  from  the  physiological  point  of  view. 

According  to  Newdon’s  theory  the  colours  of  the  pris- 
matic  Spectrum  follow  each  other  in  the  Order  of  their  refran- 
gibility;  according  to  Goethe  the  prism  show's  the  colours 
antagonistic  to  each  other.  “ On  this  fundamental  principle 
rests  everything,”  we  read  in  Goethe’s  early  wTork,  Beiträge 
zur  Optik  (§55).  Hence  not  only  the  physiological  part  of 
his  theory  of  colours,  but  the  whole  of  it,  is  built  up  on  the 
idea  of  antagonistic  colours. 18  And  in  the  treatise  Von 
den  farbigen  Schatten,  written  in  1792,  in  a w'av  clearly 
indicating  his  point  of  view,  Goethe  refers  to  the  “agree- 
ment  with  those  prismatic  experiments”  in  the  Beiträge 
and  expresses  the  hope  that  “ the  theory  of  coloured  shadows 
would  join  itself  immediately”  to  the  wdiole  mass  of  the 
theory  of  colours  and  “would  contribute  much  toward  the 
explanation  and  elucidation  of  the  subject.”*  From  his 
remark  in  this  connection,  that  in  coloured  shadows  we 
find  the  idea  of  antagonistic  colours  productively  realised, 
in  that  these  colours  “produce  each  other  altemately,” 
one  might  be  inclined  to  draw  the  conclusion  that  he  con- 
ceived  the  idea  of  antagonistic  colours  of  the  Spectrum  before 

* NS.,  v1.,  115. 


Zbe  IRaturalist 


125 


he  did  the  idea  of  antagonistic  physiological  colours.  But 
if  one  considers  the  way  in  which  Goethe  came  to  take  up 
the  theory  of  colours,  what  aim  he  was  pursuing,  and  if  one 
remembers  that  in  his  early  youth  his  attention  had  been 
attracted  by  a phenomenon  of  coloured  shadows  which  he 
had  occasion  again  to  admire  in  Italy — where,  during  the 
sirocco  and  the  purple  sunsets  incident  to  it,  the  most  beau- 
tiful  sea-green  shadows  were  to  be  seen  * — one  will  be  in- 
clinea  to  concede  priority  to  the  discovery  of  the  antagonistic 
quality  of  physiological  colours,  and  to  admit  that  Goethe 
objectified,  so  to  speak,  this  antagonistic  quality  and  in  this 
way  came  upon  the  idea  of  referring  to  it  physical  colours 
as  well.  Hence  we  do  not  feel  inclined  to  believe  the  story 
that  Goethe  looked  through  impatient  Büttner’s  prism  at 
an  extended  white  surface  and  when  he  saw  what,  according 
to  Newton’s  theory,  he  could  not  help  seeing — namely,  that 
where  a dark  surface  joined  a bright  one  only  the  borders 
were  coloured,  yellowish  red  on  the  one  hand.bluish  red 
on  the  other — he  immediately,  “as  though  by  instinct,” 
declared  to  himself,  but  loud  enough  to  be  heard,  that  the 
Newtonian  theory  is  wrong.  We  incline  rather  to  the 
belief  that  his  view  of  the  nature  and  origin  of  colour  was 
already  on  the  very  verge  of  consciousness  and  he  saw  he  re 
the  physiological  antagonism  objectively  before  him.  It 
was  now  too  late  for  him  to  be  further  influenced  by  the 
observation  that  a narrow  white  surface  seen  through  a 
prism  seems  really  dissolved  into  colours. 

The  point  of  view  here  taken  throws  a surprising  light 
upon  a passage  in  Goethe’s  letter  to  Schiller  of  the  i5th  of 
November,  1796:  “The  observations  of  nature  please  me 
very  much.  It  seems  peculiar,  and  yet  it  is  natural,  that 
they  should  result  in  a kind  of  subjective  whole.  It  is 
really  becoming,  if  you  will,  the  world  of  the  eye,  which  is 
exhausted  by  form  and  colour.  For  when  I pay  close  at- 
tention I need  make  but  sparing  use  of  the  aid  of  the  other 
senses,  and  all  reasoning  is  converted  into  a kind  of  repre- 
sentation.”  Thus  the  world  of  the  eye  is  rounded  out  in  the 

* Confession  des  Verfassers  (NS.,  iv.,  291). 


126 


£be  Xife  of  Goetbe 


theory  of  colours,  in  that  the  beginning  and  the  end  blend 
together  to  form  a circle.  Here  the  foundation  is  laid  for 
the  discovery  of  the  fundamental  law  of  all  harmony  of 
colours,  as  is  suggested  in  the  Farbenlehre  (§61).  In  the 
splendid  chapter  entitled  Sinnlich-sittliche  Wirkung  der 
Farbe,  the  esthetic  content  of  which  is  still  far  from  being 
duly  appreciated,  the  subject  is  explained  and  followed 
through  all  its  ramifications.  Here  we  are  referred  again 
to  the  beginning,  and  hence  it  cannot  be  otherwise  than 
that  harmony  is  to  be  sought  in  the  eye  of  man. 19  Thus 
he  happily  found  the  way  back  to  art  through  physio- 
logical  colours  and  their  general  ethical  and  esthetic  effect.* 

AVhen  Goethe’s  essay  Die  Natur  was  rescued  from 
oblivion,  in  1828,  he  confessed  that  the  observations  it  con- 
tained  agreed  very  well  with  the  conceptions  which  he  had 
formed  at  the  time  of  writing  it,  but  that  he  had  then 
lacked  a “ clear  notion  of  the  two  great  driving  wheels  of 
all  nature,  the  conceptions  of  polarity  and  intensification.” 
His  theory  of  colours  is  subordinated  to  these  principles, 
which  were  very  familiär  to  the  discoverer  of  the  inter- 
maxillary  and  the  metamorphosis  of  plants. 

He  is  fond  of  considering  all  the  workings  of  nature 
under  the  conception  of  polarity.  Times  without  number 
and  in  an  infinite  variety  of  ways  he  gives  expression  to  this 
idea  everywhere,  and  especially  in  the  theory  of  colours, 
where  it  appears  under  the  form  of  active  and  passive,  plus 
and  minus.  No  figure  does  he  employ  more  frequently  than 
that  of  inhalation  and  exhalation,  systole  and  diastole,  under 
which  the  polar  contrasts  are  represented.  “ It  is  the 
eternal  formula  of  life  which  here  finds  another  expression 
(§38).  Together  they  form  the  totality,  the  unitv.  Even 
as  early  as  his  Beiträge  zur  Optik  he  called  the  two  funda- 
mental colours,  yellow  and  blue,  poles.  By  increasing  the 
opacity  of  the  medium,  which  brings  out  the  former,  the 
latter  is  intensified  tili  it  finally  becomes  a ruby  red;  by 
increasing  the  transparency  blue  is  intensified  to  violet.t 

* Confession  des  Verfassers  (NS.,  iv.,  308). 

t Cf.  p.  121. 


Gbe  IRaturaUet 


127 


Yellow  and  blue  mixed  in  their  purest  state  give  green; 
united  in  their  intensified  state  as  yellowish  red  and  bluish 
red,  they  produce  purple.  With  that  the  Goethian  circle 
of  colours  is  closed. 

Goethe  had  planned  to  treat  the  historical  part  of  the 
Farbenlehre  as  a symbol  of  the  history  of  all  Sciences,  and 
although  he  finally  gave  it  the  modest  title  of  “ Materials 
for  the  History  of  the  Theory  of  Colours,”  his  contemporaries 
and  succeeding  generations  have  declared  with  delight,  and 
even  with  enthusiasm,  that  he  did  full  justice  to  the  exalted 
task  which  he  set  for  himself.  Even  in  the  “ hasty  sketch 
of  the  history  of  the  theory  of  colours,”  which  Goethe  sent 
to  Schiller  on  the  2oth  of  January,  1798,  Schiller  found  many 
important  fundamental  features  of  a general  history  of 
Science  and  human  thought.  A light-bearer,  Goethe  leads 
us  through  thousands  of  years  and  lets  us  listen  to  the  con- 
versations  which  a sovereign  genius  holds  with  the  great 
men  of  the  long  past.  He  usually  shows  us  the  personalities 
on  the  historical  background  of  their  times,  in  Order  to  give 
us  a clearer  understanding  of  them.  How  felicitous  the 
master  is  in  conjuring  up  before  our  mind’s  eye  with  a few 
strokes  a picture  of  the  intellectual  nature  of  a Plato  and  an 
Aristotle!  With  what  deep,  wisdom-laden  observations 
on  the  philosophy  of  history  he  fills  up  the  “gaps”!  And 
who  has  ever  said  truer  and  more  beautiful  things  about  the 
Bible  than  Goethe  in  his  history  of  the  theory  of  colours? 
“The  spirit  of  true,  deep  humanity  reigns  throughout  the 
work,”  wrote  Knebel  (August  10,  1810).  Everything  in 
it  is  there  because  of  its  substance;  there  is  nothing  in  it 
for  the  sake  of  appearance,  and  nothing  for  any  other  such 
motive.  And  thus  in  the  end  it  leaves  upon  us  the  impres- 
sion  of  reconciliation  with  the  shades  of  Newton. 

Goethe’s  scientific  activity  was  by  no  means  limited  to 
these  finished  works.  He  also  aroused  and  nurtured  love 
for  science  and  the  dissemination  of  scientific  knowledge 
as  a “volunteer”  teacher.  In  the  Weimar  Court  circle 
and  among  his  friends  he  repeatedly  delivered  lectures  in 
almost  all  fields  of  natural  science,  even  on  the  physical 


128 


Zbc  Xife  of  <3oetbe 


disciplines,  and  the  outlines  of  some  of  the  lectures  have 
been  preserved.  These  may  not  have  been  wholly  without 
effect  upon  his  finished  works,  for  he  once  said : “ I never 
delivered  a lecture  without  gaining  something  by  it.  Usu- 
ally  while  I was  speaking  new  light  dawned  upon  me,  and 
in  the  flow  of  Speech  I was  most  certain  in  my  invention.”* 
The  impetus  which  Goethe  gave  to  the  foundation  of 
scientific  museums  and  collections  has  not  yet  been  fully 
appreciated.  His  efforts  in  the  little  country  of  Weimar 
to  enlarge  and  enrich  in  every  wray  the  museums  already  in 
existence  and  to  establish  new  ones  were  crowned  with 
success.  But  that  was  not  all.  He  made  his  influence  feit 
more  widely  by  referring  in  his  conversations  and  in  his 
writings  to  the  importance  of  such  collections  as  aids  to 
study  and  teaching.  If  nowadays  it  is  a matter  of  course 
that  every  institution  devoted  to  the  teaching  of  natural 
Science  should  have  its  museum,  it  is  no  more  than  right  to 
remember  that  the  idea  originated  with  Goethe.  And  if 
at  present  academies  and  leamed  bodies  unite  for  common 
activity,  herein  is  likewise  to  be  found  the  realisation  of  an 
idea  and  desire  offen  expressed  by  him.  He  deserves  credit 
for  an  infinite  number  of  things  beside  the  scientific  dis- 
coveries  which  he  made  and  which  laid  such  deep  foun- 
dations  for  further  development.  His  way  of  presenting 
things  and  the  suggestions  which  he  threw  out  in  every  Con- 
nection formed  ferments  that  have  gone  on  inspiring  new 
conceptions  and  gaining  an  ever  widening  sphere  of  in- 
fluence. We  shall  content  ourselves  with  referring  only  to 
the  testimony  of  Johannes  Müller,  that  but  for  several  years 
of  study  devoted  to  Goethe’s  Farbenlehre,  in  Connection  with 
observation  of  the  phenomena,  his  work.  Zur  vergleichenden 
Physiologie  des  Gesichtsinnes,  would  probably  not  have 
been  written.  In  this  work  is  contained  the  very  important 
discovery  of  the  law  of  specific  sense  energies,  the  founda- 
tion of  all  physiology.  As  a matter  of  fact  the  germ  of  this 
law  is  unmistakably  contained  in  the  physiological  part  of 
the  Farbenlehre. 

* Campagne  in  Frankreich  (IF..  xxxiii.,  197). 


£foe  IRaturalist 


129 


In  ways  unknown  to  us  ideas  of  no  less  vital  power 
have  passed  from  Goethe’s  conversations  into  Science.  In 
speaking  of  ideas  suggested  during  Herder’  s composition 
of  his  Ideen  zur  Geschickte  der  Menschheit  Goethe  remarks: 
“ It  may  perhaps  not  seem  presumptuous  if  we  fancy  that 
many  things  which  sprang  therefrom  and  were  propagated 
in  the  scientific  world  bv  tradition  are  now  bearing  fruit 
in  which  we  rejoice,  although  the  garden  is  not  always 
named  from  which  the  scions  were  obtained.”*  It  was 
certainly  his  conversations  with  Goethe  that  Alexander 
von  Humboldt  had  in  mind  in  his  testimony,  on  return- 
ing  from  his  American  joumey:  “Everywhere  I was  pos- 
sessed  with  the  feeling  . . . of  how,  exalted  by  Goethe’s 
views  of  nature,  I had,  as  it  were,  been  provided  with  new 
organs.  ”t 

Thus  Goethe’s  genius  lives  on.  Not  alone  in  the  Sciences 
with  which  he  was  best  acquainted;  for,  if  we  were  always 
conscious  of  the  culture  which  radiates  from  his  spirit,  we 
should  find  its  trace  in  all  the  Sciences.  It  is  here  particu- 
larly  a question  of  that  method  wdiich  alone  in  the  long  run 
can  lead  to  great  results,  the  method  based  on  a combination 
of  induction  and  deduction,  analysis  and  synthesis,  ex- 
perience  and  idea,  or  whatever  other  technical  terms  of  the 
theory  of  knowledge  we  may  employ  to  express  the  anti- 
theses.  We  take  it  for  granted  that  we  should  use  these 
opposite  functions  of  the  understanding,  that  in  investigation 
we  should  proceed  in  both  ways,  in  Order  to  arrive  at  the 
same  goal.  But  if  this  had  always  been  true,  or  if  it  had 
been  true  in  Goethe’s  day,  he  certainly  would  not  have 
pointed  out  in  hundreds  of  different  ways  the  necessity  of 
such  a combination  and  would  not  have  dwelt  so  constantly 
upon  the  importance  of  it.  We  know,  as  a matter  of  fact, 
how  the  progress  of  Science  was  retarded  by  the  preponder- 
ance  of  first  one  and  then  the  other  function  of  the  intellect. 
Hence  Goethe  repeats  time  and  again : “ Only  both  together, 

* Zur  Morphologie  (NS.,  vi.,  20  /.). 

t Alexander  von  Humboldt,  eine  wissenschaftliche  Biographie,  heraus- 
gegeben von  Karl  Bruhns,  i.,  417  f. 

VOL.  III — 9 


i3o 


Hhe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


like  inhalation  and  exhalation,  make  the  life  of  Science.”* 
“Time  is  ruied  by  the  oscillations  of  the  pendulum;  the 
moral  and  scientific  world,  by  the  altemation  of  idea  and 
experience.”f  He  wams  the  investigator  against  “clinging 
stubbornly  to  one  mode  of  explanation.”f  He  demands 
“ thoroughness  in  Observation,  versatility  in  method  of  re- 
presentation.”  § 

These  are  rules  that  have  become  the  common  property 
of  investigators  and  their  great  value  is  constantly  observed, 
especially  at  the  present  day,  in  the  progress  of  the  natural 
Sciences.  We  are  daily  forced  to  leam  our  subjects  over 
again ; ideas  which  to-day  seem  firmly  established  must  give 
way  to  others  to-morrow.  To  us  it  sounds  almost  trivial  in 
Goethe  to  teach  that  in  the  pursuit  of  scientific  aims  it  is 
equally  harmful  to  rely  upon  experience  exclusively  and  to 
follow  an  idea  absolutely;  that  a conception,  an  idea,  may 
well  lie  at  the  bottom  of  an  observation,  may  aid  an  ex- 
perience, may  even  favour  discovery  and  invention.  Where 
is  the  man  to-day  who  doubts  that,  without  a guiding  idea, 
investigation  is  likely  to  degenerate  into  uncertain  groping 
and  to  end  in  dabbling?  At  the  time  when  Goethe  wrote 
the  above  words,  however,  the  state  of  the  Sciences  of  organic 
nature  showed  signs  of  Stagnation  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
fantastic  speculation  on  the  other.  We  have  already  seen 
how  he  aroused  Science  from  its  torpor  and  substituted  for 
the  fantastic  the  ideal,  ideas  gained  by  contemplation  on  the 
basis  of  experience.  For  idea  and  experience  are  not  op- 
posites  which  invalidate  each  other;  an  idea,  according  to 
Goethe,  is  the  result  of  experience,  and  he  characterises  a 
conception  as  the  sum  of  experience.  || 

Thus  Goethe,  whom  many,  half-ignorant  as  to  his  true 
nature,  count  among  the  discredited  natural  philosophers, 
far  though  his  head  may  tower  into  the  ethereal  region  of 
ideas,  never  forsakes  the  firm  ground  of  the  real — an 

* Analyse  und  Synthese  (NS.,  xi.,  70). 

f NS.,  vi.,  354.  J NS.,  vi.,  349. 

§ NS.,  xi.,  44. 

||  NS.,  xi.,  158;  Sprüche  in  Prosa,  No.  1016. 


$be  IRaturaliöt 


I3I 

unconquerable  Antseus.  Hence  in  the  famous  conversation 
with  Schiller  conceming  the  metamorphosis  of  plants,  which 
marked  the  beginning  of  their  unique  friendship,  when 
Goethe,  with  a few  strokes  of  his  pen,  drew  a “symbolic 
plant”  for  Schiller,  and  Schiller  remarked  conceming  it, 
‘‘That  is  not  an  experience,  it  is  an  idea,”  Goethe  had  good 
reasons  for  his  answer  that  he  was  very  glad  to  have  ideas 
that  he  could  even  see  with  his  eyes.  He  saw  the  ideal  in 
the  real.  While  the  “symbolic  plant”  makes  a stränge 
Impression  upon  us,  and  while  Goethe  often  confessed  that 
he  was  able  to  express  himself  only  in  symbols,  still  he  does 
not  leave  us  in  doubt  as  to  how  we  are  to  understand  him. 
“ That  is  true  symbolism  in  which  the  particular  represents 
the  general,  not  as  a dream  and  a shade,  but  as  a living, 
momentary  revelation  of  the  inscrutable.”*  To  stand  in 
the  forefront  of  science  one  “ must  develop  all  the  manifesta- 
tions  of  the  human  being — sensuousness  and  reason,  imagina- 
tion  and  understanding — to  a distinct  unity.”f  Nowadays 
there  can  hardly  be  any  one  who  would  question  the  asser- 
tion  that,  without  imagination,  as  Goethe  says,  a great  natur- 
alist  is  inconceivable.J  Not  an  imagination  that  wanders 
vaguely  and  pictures  to  itself  things  which  do  not  exist ; but 
one  that  never  forsakes  the  ground  of  earthly  reality,  and, 
guided  by  the  Standard  of  the  real  and  the  known,  advances 
to  things  that  it  has  surmised  and  divined  to  be  true. 

Goethe’s  is  the  ideal  mode  of  thinking,  which  causes  him 
to  see  the  etemal  in  the  transitory,§  as  Spinoza  saw  things 
sub  specie  ceterni.  Hence  with  him  study  of  nature  was  in 
more  than  one  sense  a matter  of  the  heart,  his  devotion 
to  her  a natural  necessity,  the  outgrowth  of  his  religious 
longing.  In  Spinoza’s  deus  sive  natura  he  found  only  his 
own  natural,  clear,  profound  view  of  the  world,  which  had 
taught  him  ineradicably  to  see  God  in  nature  and  nature  in 
God.  ||  True,  it  is  becoming  in  man  to  concede  that  there 
* Sprüche  in  Prosa,  No.  273. 
t Stiedenroths  Psychologie  (NS.,  xi.,  75). 
t Eckermann,  Gespräche,  iii. , 196. 

, § Leben  und  Verdienste  des  Doktor  Joachim  Jungius  (NS.,  vii.,  120). 

]|  Tag-  und  Jahreshefte,  1S11  (W.,  xxxvi.,  72). 


132 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


are  inscrutable  things,  but  he  must  set  no  limit  to  his  inves- 
tigation.  He  must  pursue  the  inscrutable  Step  by  step  to 
its  final  retreat,  until  he  may  be  satisfied  and  willingly  give 
himself  up  as  defeated.  Goethe  once  wrote  to  Frau  von 
Stein  that  the  book  of  nature  was  becoming  so  legible  to 
him  because  he  had  no  system  and  desired  nothing  but 
the  truth  for  its  own  sake.  The  true  is  identical  with  the 
divine,*  and  he  who  makes  the  epitome  of  the  true  a part  of 
himself,  in  so  far  as  it  is  given  to  man  to  know  it, 

®er  28iffettfcE)aft  unb  -Sutrit  beiitjt, 

|>at  and)  Steligion.f 

From  the  storms  of  passion,  from  the  depression  of 
spirit  into  which  he  was  thrown  in  his  contact  with  men  and 
things,  he  fled  for  refuge  to  scientific  investigation.  Here 
he  sought  and  found  “ Salvation  and  comfort,”  and,  thanks 
to  his  ideal  mode  of  thought,  he  was  able  “ to  overcome  his 
temporary  displeasure  with  the  finite  by  rising  to  the  in- 
finite. Two  years  after  his  retum  from  Italy  he  wrote 
to  Knebel  that  his  soul  was  driving  him  to  natural  Science 
more  than  ever  before  and  that  in  the  consistency  of  nature 
he  was  finding  beautiful  consolation  for  the  inconsistency  of 
men.  To  him  nature  was  ‘‘the  great,  good  mother,”  and 
the  reason  that  he  for  so  long  a time  feit  repulsed  by  Schiller 
was  because  the  latter  had  treated  her  with  such  harsh  ex- 
pressions,  as,  for  example,  in  his  essay,  Über  Anmut  und 
Würde.  To  be  sure,  she  had  provided  him  himself  with  all 
the  organs  of  sense  and  faculties  of  soul  with  which  to  grasp 
her,  and  he  feit  drawn  to  her  as  to  a friend,  as  we  read  in 
Faust’s  hymn  of  gratitude : 

(Erhabner  ©eift,  bu  gabjtmir,  gabft  mir  alles, 

SGBarum  id)  bat.  ®u  fjaft  mir  nid)t  umfonft 
S5ein  3Ingefid)t  im  g-eucr  jugeroenbet. 

©abft  mir  bie  berrlidje  Statur  311m  ^önigrcidj, 

Äraft,  fte  31t  fufilcn,  31t  genießen.  Stiebt 

* Versuch  einer  Witterungsichre  (NS.,  xii.,  74). 

flf  art  and  Science  one  possess, 

One  hath  religion  too. 


t NS.,  vi.,  348. 


Gbe  IRaturaltet 


i 


->  i 

OJ 


Äalt  (taunenben  Sßefud)  erlaubft  bu  nur, 

Sergönneft  mir,  in  ifjre  tiefe  SBruft, 

2Bie  in  ben  Stufen  eineö  greunbS,  ju  flauen.* 

In  his  love-inspired  absorption  in  nature  Goethe  has 
left  to  the  world  a beautiful  legacy  from  which  we  derive 
great  benefit.  His  descriptions  of  his  travels,  his  poetic 
glorifications  of  nature,  have  aroused  in  us  for  the  first  time 
a genuine  feeling  for  nature  and  have  opened  our  minds  to 
the  majestic  beauties  of  high  mountains  and  to  the  magic 
charms  of  the  world  of  glaciers,  and  we  wander  in  his  foot- 
steps  when  we  feel  ourselves  driven  out  into  these  regions. 

In  a fragment  published  for  the  first  time  in  the  Weimar 
edition  of  his  writings  Goethe  speaks  of  four  kinds  of  in- 
vestigators,  the  last  of  which  he  calls  the  comprehensive. 
These,  “ whom  one  might  call  in  a proud  sense  the  Creative, 
are  productive  in  the  highest  degree.  By  the  mere  fact 
that  they  make  ideas  their  starting-point  they  assert  the 
unity  of  the  whole,  and  after  that  it  is,  so  to  speak,  nature’s 
business  to  accommodate  herseif  to  this  idea.”f  A few 
lines  further  on  we  read,  “Productive  imagination  with 
greatest  possible  reality.”  Thus  Goethe,  in  his  relation  to 
nature,  is  at  the  same  time  an  artist  and  an  investigator,  an 
“ after-creator,”  as  it  were.  With  the  eye  of  an  investigator 
he  seeks  to  grasp  her  works  as  an  artist.  Nowadays  the 
person  of  the  poet  scarcely  Stands  any  longer  in  the  way  of 
the  recognition  of  the  naturalist.  “Scientific  imagination” 
has  become  a proverbial  expression.  It  is  even  becoming 
populär  to  draw  a parallel  between  Creative  talent  in  Science 
and  artistic  creation,  and  mathematicians  like  to  designate 
themselves  artists.  The  investigator  must  possess  some  of 

* Exalted  Spirit,  thou  hast  heard  my  prayer 
And  granted  all.  ’T  was  truly  not  in  vain 
That  in  the  fire  thou  turn’dst  thy  face  to  me. 

Thou  gav’st  me  for  my  kingdom  nature  grand. 

And  power  with  her  communion  to  enjoy. 

Not  distant,  awed  acquaintance  grant’st  thou  me; 

Thou  dost  allow  me  in  her  deepest  breast, 

As  in  the  bosom  of  a friend,  to  gaze. 

t NS.,  vi.,  302. 


i34 


Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


the  Intuition  of  the  poet,  says  Helmholtz.*  The  “ manifesta- 
tions  of  the  human  being,”  which  blended  into  a harmonious 
unity  in  Goethe,  composed  his  greatness  and  his  uniqueness. 
His  “goddess,”  the  ever  active,  ever  new,  stränge,  daughter 
of  Jove,  was  not  fantastic,  but  “exact,  sensuous  fancy.”f 
Hence  it  was  possible  for  him  to  become  the  poet-naturalist, 
as  a supreme  living  evidence  that  poetry  and  science  must 
not  be  looked  upon  as  “the  greatest  adversaries,”  that,  as 
“science  has  developed  out  of  poetry,”  “science  and  poetry 
may  be  combined.”J  It  will  ever  remain  a matter  of  un- 
failing  interest,  a constant  source  of  inspiration  to  new 
investigation,  and  a phenomenon  of  incomparable  sig- 
nificance  to  the  knowledge  of  human  nature,  that  in  one  of 
its  highest  embodiments  the  two  manifestations  of  the 
spirit  have  been  united  in  such  perfection. 

* Leo  Koenigsberger,  Hermann  von  Helmholtz,  ii.,  339. 

t Stiedenroths  Psychologie  (NS.,  xi.,  75). 

1 Zur  Morphologie  (NS.,  vi.,  139  and  167.) 


IV 

AFTER  THE  WARS  OF  LIBERATION 

Weimar  becomes  a grand  duchy — Goethe’s  Position  in  the  new  ministry — 
Karl  August  grants  a Constitution — Goethe’s  attitude  toward  it — 
His  displeasure  with  freedom  of  the  press — The  Wartburg  celebra- 
tion  and  its  consequences — Murder  of  Kotzebue  agitates  Germany 
— Goethe’s  attitude  toward  the  reaction — He  objects  to  romanti- 
cism  in  the  tercentenary  of  the  reformation — His  relation  to  the  old- 
er romanticists — To  the  younger  generation — Bettina  Brentano — - 
Romanticism  in  Goethe’s  writings — Contrasts  between  his  theory 
of  art  and  that  of  the  new  school— His  pronounced  Protestantism — ■ 
His  self-liberation  as  compared  with  political  freedom — His  resig- 
nation  as  theatre  director  in  reality  a dismissal — Causes  leading  up 
to  it — Effect  on  him — His  seventieth  birthday— Interview  with 
Metternich — Sojourn  at  Marienbad— The  Levetzows — Goethe’s 
relation  to  Ulrike — His  desire  to  marry  her — His  misunderstand- 
ing  of  her  veiled  refusal — Conditions  in  his  home  since  August’s 
marriage — The  Marienbad  Elegie — August’s  reception  of  the  news 
of  his  father’s  matrimonial  project — Goethe  wavers  between 
resignation  and  hope,  but  finally  resigns  himself — Ulrike’s  further 
history. 


PEACE  and  quiet  reigned  throughout  Germany  and 
Europe  after  more  than  twenty  years  of  struggles 
and  upheavals.  Germany  came  out  of  the  age  of 
revolution  with  an  entirely  new  body  politic.  With  thor- 
oughgoing  internal  changes  were  United  equally  great 
transformations  in  extemal  form.  Several  hundred  small 
territories  were  absorbed  by  larger  ones.  What  the  Prin- 
cipal Decree  of  the  Imperial  Deputation  (1803),  earlier 
and  later  treaties,  and  Napoleonic  edicts  had  not  yet 
brought  about  was  accomplished  by  the  Congress  of  Vienna 
in  1815. 


135 


i36 


Zbe  üLife  of  (Soetbe 


In  the  new  distribution  of  lands  the  Duchy  of  Weimar 
did  not  come  off  empty-handed.  As  a reward  for  the  Ger- 
man spirit  of  the  Duke,  and  the  heavy  sacrifices  which  his 
country  had  made  during  the  wars,  it  was  increased  in  size 
by  twice  its  area  and  was  raised  to  a grand  duchy.  Karl 
August,  ready  as  ever  to  share  his  good  fortune,  allowed  his 
most  distinguished  councillors  to  benefit  by  the  elevation 
and  enlargement  of  the  state.  In  the  new  Ministry  of 
State,  into  which  the  old  Privy  Council  was  converted, 
Goethe  was  appointed  prime  minister,  although  the  only 
official  responsibility  he  retained  was  the  superintendence 
of  the  immediate  institutions  of  Science  and  art.  His  salary 
was  fixed  at  three  thousand  thalers,  a very  large  sum  for 
that  day  and  for  Weimar.  Since,  through  the  favour  of 
his  prince,  Goethe  possessed,  in  addition,  two  houses  with 
large  gardens,  Karl  August  may  be  said  to  have  offered  the 
aged  poet  as  comfortable  an  existence  as  possible. 

The  Grand  Duke  did  not  assume  his  new  dignity  and 
his  new  possessions  without  redeeming  loyally  the  promise 
of  a Constitution  which  the  “Vienna  agreements”  had 
made  each  German  state.  The  Constitution  which  he  gave 
his  country  was  thoroughly  modern  and  liberal.  Repre- 
sentatives  chosen  by  free  bailot  from  all  the  estates,  burgher 
and  peasant  included,  were  from  that  time  on  to  have  a 
share  in  public  legislation  and  administration. 

On  the  7th  of  April,  1816,  when  the  new  legislature  paid 
its  solemn  homage  to  the  Grand  Duke,  Goethe  stood  next 
to  the  throne.  He  must  have  had  very  stränge  sensations 
during  the  ceremony.  He  was  taking  part  in  an  act  which 
he  inwardly  condemned.  He  had  stubbomly  held  fast 
his  conviction  that  politics  is  an  art  which,  like  every  other, 
has  to  be  leamed,  and  for  this  reason  a large  majority  of 
the  so-called  representatives  of  the  people  know  practically 
nothing  of  this  art;  that,  indeed,  as  a rule,  nothing  reason- 
able  is  to  be  expected  of  a many-headed  assembly  in  which 
the  majority  rules.  Personally  he  must  have  feit  in  addition 
a shudder  of  indignation  when  he  thought  how  in  the 
future  he  should  be  held  to  give  account  to  a stocking  manu- 


Hfter  tbe  Maxe  of  Xiberation 


137 


facturer  of  Apolda,  or  the  burgomaster  of  Bürgel,  or  the 
village  mayor  of  Stützerbach,  for  any  measures  he  might 
take  for  the  advancement  of  the  University  of  Jena,  or  the 
School  of  Art  in  Weimar.  In  spite  of  the  new  constitu- 
tional  conditions  he  may  still  have  found  consolation  in  the 
hope  that  the  old  tried  authorities  would  be  able  to  make 
their  influence  count,  just  as  he  himself  continued,  so  far 
as  the  state  diet  was  concemed,  to  exercise  his  powers  auto- 
cratically;  but  he  could  not  get  over  the  fact  that  complete 
freedom  of  the  press  was  assured  by  the  Constitution.  This 
sharp  instrument  in  the  hands  of  alert  and  clever  writers, 
as  a rule  politically  inexperienced,  short-sighted,  and  ex- 
citable,  such  as  Weimar  and  Jena  possessed  in  great  numbers, 
could  not  fail  to  work  mischief  and  bring  the  country  into 
confusion  intemally  and  into  danger  extemally,  especially 
at  a time  when  in  the  rest  of  Germany  the  freedom  of  speech 
was  either  limited  or  wholly  suppressed. 

Journals  shot  up  like  mushrooms  in  the  little  country. 
Fiveappeared  in  Jena  alone:  the  Nemesis  and  the  Staatsver- 
fassungsarchiv, edited  by  Professor  Luden ; the  Isis,  by  Pro- 
fessor Oken;  Des  teutschen  Burschen  fliegende  Blätter,  by 
Professor  Fries;  and  the  Volksfreund,  by  Ludwig  Wieland,  a 
son  of  the  poet.  One  appeared  in  Weimar,  the  Oppositions- 
blatt.* Goethe  would  have  liked  best  of  all  to  tum  his  eyes 
away  from  these  paper  horrors.  When  the  first  evil  products 
were  laid  before  him  he  remarked  angrily  to  his  colleague 
Voigt  that  with  so  much  liberty  of  the  press  he  must 
certainly  be  allowed  to  retain  the  liberty  of  not  reading  . 

With  a certain  irony  the  liberty  of  the  press  was  tumed 
first  of  all  against  the  Constitution  which  had  introduced  it. 
Oken  criticised  in  his  Isis  the  fundamental  law  of  the  Weimar 
State,  which  was  otherwise  received  in  the  grand  duchy,  and 
in  fact  in  all  Germany,  with  joyous  enthusiasm.  His  very 
adverse  criticisms  thoroughly  aroused  the  anger  of  the  Grand 
Duke,  who  begged  Goethe  to  advise  him  what  steps  should 
be taken  against  Oken.  Goethe’s  advice  agreed  entirely  with 

* Concerning  the  fate  of  Bertuch’s  journal,  cf.  Düntzer,  Goethe  und 
Karl  August,  2ded.,  p.  792. — C. 


138 


Zhe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


his  general  attitude  of  mind : severity  toward  the  thing,  gen- 
tleness  toward  the  person;  the  joumal  should  be  suppressed, 
but  Oken  should  in  no  wise  be  persecuted.  Even  a dis- 
ciplinary  reproof  he  considered  out  of  keeping  with  the 
dignity  of  a Scholar  and  a university  teacher.  The  Grand 
Duke  would  not  agree  to  the  suppression  of  the  joumal 
when  six  months  had  hardly  elapsed  since  his  proclamation 
of  the  freedom  of  the  press,  and,  as  he  wished  to  heed 
Goethe’s  advice  not  to  inflict  any  personal  injury,  he  pre- 
ferred to  suppress  his  own  anger  and  let  the  matter  go. 
But  things  developed  rapidly  to  a crisis. 

After  the  wars  of  liberation  a deep  sense  of  dissatis- 
faction  came  over  all  aggressive  patriots  who  were  not,  like 
Goethe,  willing  to  await  the  calm  progress  of  history.  The 
most  active  fermentation  was  going  on  in  the  breasts  of  the 
younger  men  who  had  fought  in  the  war,  or  had  lived 
through  it,  with  enthusiastic  hopes  for  the  future.  It  had 
been  their  dream  that  the  fairest  flower  springing  up  from 
the  soil  enriched  with  the  blood  of  fallen  heroes  would 
be  a Germany  united  in  liberty,  a mighty  and  independent 
state.  But  that  all  proved  a vain  delusion.  In  the  in- 
dividual States  there  was  narrow-minded  tutelage  and  op- 
pression,  and  the  whole  country  was  bowed  beneath  the 
sovereignty  of  half  foreign  Austria  and  wholly  foreign, 
barbaric  Russia.  Things  had  come  to  pass  as  Goethe  had 
prophesied,  and  he  sympathised  fully  with  the  young 
men’s  vexation  at  foreign  suzerainty.  As  though  to  vex 
him  personally,  the  execrable  wretch  Kotzebue  had  taken 
up  his  abode  before  Goethe’s  door  in  Weimar,  as  a Russian 
agent  and  spy.  Kotzebue  had  been  labouring  for  years  to 
debase  Goethe  and  his  high  art. 

The  third  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Leipsic  and  the 
three  hundredth  of  the  reformation  were  approaching. 
The  students  of  all  Germany,  at  the  Suggestion  of  those  in 
Jena,  prepared  to  celebrate  the  two  occasions  together  at 
the  Wartburg.  About  five  hundred  Burschen  met  there, 
under  the  leadership  of  the  most  populär  Jena  professors, 
and  celebrated  the  great  memorial  days  with  inspiring. 


Hfter  tbe  Mars  of  Xiberation 


139 


devout  orations,  in  Order  to  lift  themselves  up  to  a higher 
existence  and  to  gather  strength  for  the  continuation  of 
their  struggles  for  liberty,  honour,  virtue,  and  native  coun- 
try.  The  celebration  closed  with  an  auto-da-fe — arranged, 
to  be  sure,  by  only  a part  of  the  assembled  crowd, — which 
delivered  to  the  flames  a number  of  writings  whose  contents 
or  authors  the  young  men  hated.  This  celebration,  to- 
gether  with  garbled  and  exaggerated  reports  of  the  orations, 
and  especially  the  heaven-licking  flames  of  the  punitive 
fire,  called  forth  a storm  of  horror  and  indignation  in 
conservative  circles. 

Although  Goethe  was  at  that  time  as  conservative  as 
anybody,  nevertheless  he  was  unable  to  see  anything  in- 
herently  harmful  either  in  the  orations  or  in  the  funeral  pile. 
The  latter  may  have  reminded  him  how,  in  his  early  years, 
he  had  destroyed  whatever  picture  or  book  was  odious  to 
him  by  shooting  or  knocking  it  to  pieces,  or  by  nailing  it  up, 
with  the  raging  cry,  “That  shall  not  survive!”  And  he 
doubtless  allowed  himself  to  believe  that  the  writings  bumed 
were  calculated  to  arouse  a similar  repugnance  in  the  minds 
of  the  young.  Even  he,  old  as  he  was,  took  special  delight 
in  the  fact  that  on  the  buming  pyre  Kotzebue’s  Geschichte 
des  deutschen  Reiches  had  atoned  for  its  sinful  existence. 
He  could  not  refrain  from  giving  vent  to  his  satisfaction 
in  a few  verses : 

©u  f)d|t  e$  lange  genug  getrieben, 

9heberträd)tig  üom  £>ot)en  getrieben, 

§ätte[t  gern  bte  tieffte  9ticbertrad)t 
©etn  2lllerl)öcf)ften  gleich  gebracht. 


©ie  Sugenb  hat  eS  ©ir  bergolten: 

SlEer  @nb’  her  tarnen  fte  gufammen, 

©ich  haufenroeife  31t  öerbantmen; 

@anft  ^eter  freut  [ich  ©einer  flammen.* 

* Quite  long  enough  hast  thou  been  borne, 
Heaping  on  higher  things  thy  scorn; 

Thou  hadst  gladly  placed  the  deepest  malignity 
On  equal  plane  with  highest  dignity. 


140 


£be  Xtfe  of  (Boetbe 


As  for  the  orations,  the  spirit  which  pervaded  them  was 
wholly  in  accord  with  his  own  feelings.  “ What  could  be 
more  beautiful,”  he  asked  Frau  Frommann,  “than  that  the 
youth  should  assemble  from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  league 
themselves  more  firmly  together  for  the  promotion  of 
good?”  Likewise  the  general  idealistic  movement  which 
had  Sprung  up  in  the  Student  world  and  was  leading  them 
to  give  up  boisterous  drinking  and  fighting,  and  still  worse 
things,  met  with  his  heartiest  approval.  But  he  held  that 
because  of  their  ignorance  of  affairs  young  people  should 
hold  themselves  aloof  from  politics  and  not  seek  to  exert 
an  influence  in  practical  life.  When  one  of  their  spokes- 
men  with  flashing  eyes  set  forth  to  him  his  political  views  he 
would  fain  have  fallen  on  his  neck,  and  said,  “ But,  my  dear 
boy,  don’t  be  so  stupid!” 

By  the  side  of  all  the  good  and  noble  things  springing 
up  around  him  on  all  sides  the  one  thing  that  caused  him 
anxiety  was  the  political  short-sightedness  with  which,  in 
his  opinion,  the  Grand  Duke  and  his  ministers  were  no  less 
afflicted  than  were  the  professors  and  students  of  Jena.  He 
was  the  only  man  in  Weimar  who  had  foreseen  the  conse- 
quences  of  the  Wartburg  celebration,  and  had  expressed 
deep  regret  when  permission  was  granted  to  hold  it.  Com- 
plaints  now  poured  in  from  all  sides.  There  were  visions 
of  conspiracy  and  rebellion,  and  the  Weimar  govemment, 
which  had  permitted  the  celebration,  which  had  even 
favoured  it  by  allowing  it  to  be  held  in  the  Wartburg,  was 
looked  upon  as  an  accomplice.  The  Prussian  chancellor 
von  Hardenberg  and  the  Austrian  ambassador  in  Berlin, 
Count  Zichy,  came  in  person  to  Weimar  to  make  expostu- 
lations  against  the  revolutionary  manifestations  there. 
Behind  Prussia  and  Austria  were  the  remonstrances  and 
complaints  of  Russia  and  France.  Affairs  in  the  grand 
duchy  seemed  to  have  reached  a crisis.  Karl  August  bore 
it  with  grim  humour.  He  wrote  to  Goethe:  “The  thing 

On  thee  hath  Youth  its  vengeance  wreaked: 

From  every  quarter  of  the  nation 

Came  hordes  demanding  thy  condemnation; 

Saint  Peter  delights  in  thy  conflagration. 


Hfter  tbe  TÄHar$  of  Liberation 


141 

which  one  cannot  so  readily  rid  one’s  seif  of  is  the  feeling 
of  disgust  at  the  insipidities,  which  by  frequent  repetition 
and  much  rumination  become  in  the  end  positively  bad 
taste.”  Goethe  took  the  matter  more  seriously:  “Present 
conditions  disturb  me  to  such  an  extent  that  I avoid  all 
society.” 

Before  he  had  gone  any  farther  than  Weimar  Harden- 
berg became  convinced  of  the  good  intentions  of  the  govem- 
ment  and  of  the  comparative  harmlessness  of  the  movement 
among  Professors  and  students;  but  Zichy  went  on  to  Jena 
in  Order  to  look  into  the  volcano’s  crater.  After  Goethe 
had  there  administered  to  him  some  soothing  powders,  he 
too  departed  with  quieted  feelings.  However,  the  mis- 
trust  and  anxiety  of  the  govemments  had  been  too  much 
aroused,  and  the  academic  hotspurs  were  no  longer  to  be 
cooled ; indeed,  they  grew  even  hotter  under  the  prohibitions, 
reprimands,  and  punishments  which  it  was  deemed  neces- 
sary  to  deal  out  to  them  in  the  interest  of  public  peace. 
And  as  though  the  most  evil  forebodings  of  the  pessimists 
were  to  be  proved  well  founded,  in  March,  1819,  the  Jena 
Student  Sand,  an  eamest,  industrious  man,  but  a political 
fanatic,  murdered  Kotzebue  as  a calumniator,  a seditionary, 
and  a traitor  to  his  country.  The  German  Confederation, 
which  had  superseded  the  former  Empire,  now  passed  a 
series  of  strict  measures  against  all  Professors  and  students 
who  should  endanger  public  peace  and  Order,  established  in 
Mainz  a central  Commission  for  the  investigation  of  dem- 
agogical  machinations,  and  introduced  a censorship  of  all 
publications  of  less  than  twenty  signatures.  Even  before 
the  Confederation  had  taken  these  measures  Weimar  had 
taken  the  most  necessary  step  to  meet  the  present  emer- 
gency  by  prohibiting  the  publication  of  Oken’s  Isis,  which 
was  most  diligent  in  agitating  the  fire,  and  by  dismissing 
the  editor  himself.  This  accomplished  but  little,  to  be  sure, 
so  far  as  the  Great  Powers  were  concemed.  Prussia  and 
Russia  put  Jena  under  the  ban  and  forbade  their  subjects 
to  attend  the  university. 

How  Goethe  was  affected  by  the  political  events,  which 


142 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


everywhere  brought  in  their  train  so  many  terrors,  animosi- 
ties,  and  indignities,  and  dealt  especially  heavy  blows  to  his 
beloved  university,  which  after  the  war  had  blossomed  forth 
to  new  life,  may  best  be  seen  from  the  fact  that  he  called 
Minister  von  Voigt,  who  died  on  the  226.  of  March,  1819, 
a happy  man  because  he  had  not  lived  to  witness  the  murder 
of  Kotzebue  and  to  be  disturbed  by  the  violent  commotion 
with  which  Germany  was  thereafter  agitated.  It  is  also 
worthy  of  note  that  Goethe  in  tum  now  used  greater  pre- 
caution  than  before  in  the  publication  of  his  own  writings. 
When  that  same  year  his  Prometheus  drama,  which  he 
thought  had  been  lost,  came  into  his  hands  in  a stränge, 
roundabout  way,  he  sent  a copy  of  it  to  Zelter,  with  the 
strict  waming  not  to  let  it  become  too  public,  lest  perchance 
the  drama  might  appear  in  print.  “ It  would  come  as  a 
very  welcome  gospel  to  our  revolutionary  youth,  and  the 
high  commissions  in  Berlin  and  Mainz  might  make  wrv 
faces  in  disapprobation  of  my  youthful  whims.”  He  used 
this  precaution  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  objectionable 
part  of  it,  the  monologue,  in  which  Prometheus  rebels  against 
the  Olympian  authorities,  had  already  been  printed  in  1785. 

Goethe  speaks  here  of  his  youthful  whims;  but  even  the 
man  of  advanced  years  was  not  so  very  much  out  of  sym- 
pathy  with  the  spirit  which  the  poem  breathes.  Not  onlv 
had  his  philosophy  of  the  world  retained  essentially  its 
old  pantheistic  character,  although  it  now  sought  other 
forms  of  expression;  but  even  the  desire  for  combat,  which 
led  him  to  throw  down  his  gage  to  the  Opposition,  had  not 
abated  in  any  appreciable  degree.  He  was  not  a reaction- 
ary.  “ In  their  principle  of  conserving  existing  conditions 
and  anticipating  revolutionary  movements  I am  entirely  in 
accord  with  them  [the  monarchists],  but  not  in  their  choice 
of  means  to  that  end.  They  call  to  their  aid  stupidity  and 
darkness;  I,  understanding  and  light.”  And  just  as  little 
was  he  the  quietist,  the  man  looking  about  anxiouslv  for 
peace  and  dwelling  in  the  comforts  of  peace,  that  many  of 
his  contemporaries,  especially  the  younger  ones,  considered 
him  to  be.  Within  him  there  was  the  same  boiling  and  bub- 


Hfter  tbe  Mars  of  ^Liberation 


r43 


bling  as  before,  and  he  was  daily  tempted  to  enter  the  lists 
against  the  low,  the  harmful,  the  untrue,  and  the  unhealthy, 
as  is  proved  by  the  unbroken  chain  of  his  sarcastic  and 
serious  attacks  in  verse  and  prose,  as  well  as  by  his  con- 
versations  and  letters.  The  considerations  of  self-preserva- 
tion  and  public  Order  prescribed  for  him  certain  narrow 
limits  which  he  dared  not  exceed  in  the  outward  expression 
of  his  sentiments. 

The  approach  of  the  tercentenary  of  the  reformation, 
for  example,  aroused  within  him  a strong  desire  for  combat.* 
In  a poem  entitled  Dem  ji.  Oktober  1817  he  declared  his 
intention  “ not  to  lose  his  God-given  power  by  failure  to  use 
it,”  but  rather  “as  always  to  protest  in  art  and  Science.” 
To  be  sure,  only  in  art  and  Science.  But  he  may  have  said  to 
himself  that  these  are  the  highest  emanations  of  the  human 
mind,  and  that  if  one  keeps  his  mind  sound  in  these  fields 
it  must  of  itself  bring  forth  sound  and  helpful  products  in 
other  fields.  In  the  celebration  of  the  three-hundredth 
anniversary  of  the  reformation  the  harmful  feature  which 
he  attacked,  because  it  was  the  source  of  the  much  lamented 
reaction  in  Germany  and  Europe,  was  romanticism,  with 
its  return  to  the  Middle  Ages,  in  which  it  thought  could  be 
found  the  most  genuine  and  most  profound  type  of  Chris- 
tianity,  religion,  and  German  patriotism.  Hence  he  pub- 
lished  at  that  time,  in  common  with  his  friend  Meyer,  a 
determined  manifesto — in  the  essay  Neudeutsche  religiös- 
patriotische  Kunst. 

Goethe ’s  attitude  toward  romanticism  was  not  always 
the  same  throughout  the  various  periods  of  his  long  life. 20 
At  first  the  relation  was  a friendly  one  and  for  a moment  it 
looked  like  a brotherhood  in  arms.  In  the  nineties  the 
two  Schlegels  stood  on  the  same  ground  with  him  of  en- 
thusiasm  for  the  Greek,  and  on  his  Wilhelm  Meister  was 
based  the  romantic  theory  of  the  truly  “poetical.”  “The 
French  revolution,  Fichte’s  Grundlage  der  gesammten  Wis- 
senschajtslehre,  and  Goethe’s  Wilhelm  Meister  are  the 

* Cf.  the  draught  of  a letter  (never  sent)  to  von  Leonhard,  Br.,  xxvii., 
420  f. — C. 


144 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


greatest  tendencies  of  the  age.”  “If  any  one  were  to  give 
a thorough  characterisation  of  Meister,  he  would  in  so  doing 
really  say  what  are  the  demands  of  the  time  in  poetry;  he 
might  then  rest  on  his  laureis,  so  far  as  poetical  criticism  is 
concerned,”  declared  Friedrich  Schlegel.  His  brother  Au- 
gust Wilhelm  called  Goethe  the  “ restorer  of  poetry,  by  whom 
she  has  for  the  first  time  been  aroused  from  her  long  slum- 
ber.”  Novalis  heralded  him  as  “ the  true  stadtholder  of  the 
poetic  spirit  on  earth.”  The  most  appreciative  admirer  and 
prophet  of  Goethe’s  genius  was  very  early  found  in  Karoline 
Schlegel,  the  clever  Egeria  of  the  romantic  circle  in  Jena, 
but  also  the  dangerous  Dame  Lucifer,  as  Schiller  called 
this  most  intimate  enemy  of  his  among  women.  Schiller’ s 
relation  to  the  circle  soon  grew  cold,  and  then  the  roman- 
ticists  were  more  than  ever  inclined  to  draw  comparisons 
between  him  and  Goethe  and  to  make  Goethe  their  idol. 
Goethe  in  turn  clung  to  them  for  a long  time  and  sought  so 
far  as  possible  to  make  peace  between  them  and  Schiller. 
He  enjoyed  as  a continuation  of  the  Xenien  the  fight  of  the 
romantic  Athenäum  against  the  platitude  of  the  age,  and 
put  the  two  dramatic  failures,  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel’s 
Ion  and  Friedrich  Schlegel’s  Alarkos,  on  the  Weimar  stage. 
He  shared  with  lively  interest  their  universalistic  literary 
tendencies,  which  reached  from  Calderon  in  the  West  to 
India  in  the  East.  For  himself  he  added  a further  province 
in  China;  for  the  world,  Persia, — in  his  West-östlicher 
Divan. 

Tieck’s  relation  to  him  was  cooler  than  that  of  the  two 
Schlegels,  and  yet  he  found  grace  in  Goethe’s  sight  with 
Genoveva,  the  very  one  of  his  dramas  which  was  most  ro- 
mantic of  all  and  which  conjured  up  the  whole  colour  splen- 
dour  and  magic  charm  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Goethe  “ became 
intoxicated,”  as  he  himself  confessed,  “with  the  wealth  of 
tones  in  this  missa  solemnis,  in  which  all  the  nations  of 
Europe  off  er  their  homage  to  St.  Genevieve.”  The  poetic 
tone  of  Tieck’s  fairy  world  was  not  so  very  different  from 
that  of  his  own  lyric  creations,  especially  his  ballads.  His 
friendly  attitude  toward  Schelling,  the  philosopher  of 


Hfter  tbe  Mars  of  Xiberation 


145 


romanticism,  ;was  due  entirely  to  the  deep  intimate  relation 
of  their  pantheistic  conceptions  of  nature. 

The  second  generation  of  romanticists  stood  in  an  en- 
tirely different  relation  to  Goethe  and  their  admiration  for 
him  was  different  from  that  of  the  Schlegels,  Schelling,  and 
Tieck,  and  yet  even  with  them  he  found  all  sorts  of  common 
interests  and  many  points  of  contact.  Des  Knaben  Wunder- 
horn, the  collection  of  folk -songs  published  by  Arnim  and 
Brentano,  he  greeted  with  joy  and  gladly  accepted  their 
dedication  of  the  work  to  him.  This,  as  we  know,  was  like 
the  beginnings  of  his  own  lyric  writing,  which  had  its  roots 
in  the  folk-song,  and  it  reminded  him  pleasantly  of  Herder’s 
collection,  which,  however,  was  of  a more  cosmopolitan 
character.  For  a moment  he  allowed  himself  to  be  dazzled 
even  by  Zacharias  Werner,  had  two  of  the  latter’s  dramas 
presented  in  Weimar,  and  in  the  Frommann  home  vied  with 
him  in  the  writing  of  sonnets,  a poetical  form  with  which  he 
had  hitherto  been  little  familiär.* 

Bettina  Brentano  won  his  specially  close  friendship.  As 
the  granddaughter  of  Sophie  La  Roche,  as  the  daughter  of 
his  once  loved  Maxe,  as  the  young  friend  of  Frau  Aja,  she 
brought  with  her  many  pictures  of  happy  days  and  caused 
very  many  dear  shades  of  early  love  and  friendship  to  rise 
before  him,  when  she  came  on  her  pilgrimage  to  Weimar  to 
see  him  in  June,  1807.  In  her  book  dedicated  to  the  glori- 
fication  of  his  memory,  Goethes  Briefwechsel  mit  einem  Kinde 
(published  in  1835),  she  has  portrayed  her  relations  to  him 
in  a light  certainly  all  too  favourable  to  herseif.  She  even 
interpreted  the  last  of  those  seventeen  sonnets,  Charade,  as 
referring  to  her,  whereas  we  know  that  the  true  solution  of 
the  charade  is  the  name  Herzlieb.  But  the  enthusiastic 
admiration  with  which  she  approached  him,  in  her  genuine 
womanly  manner,  though  outwardly  often  with  very  youth- 
ful  boldness,  did  not  fail  to  make  an  impression  upon  him. 
Bettina  became  really  his  good  child,  his  dear  little  friend, 
whose  letters  and  pleasing  picture  accompanied  him  for 
a time  and  even  found  their  way  into  his  writings. 

* See  vol.  ii.,  p.  350  ff. 

VOL.  III. — io 


146 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


To  these  many  personal  relations  of  a friendly  nature 
were  added  finally  the  manifold  influences  which  roman- 
ticism  exerted  upon  him  as  a poet.  That  he  was  converted 
by  it  to  the  sonnet  has  already  been  mentioned;  also  that 
the  origin  of  the  West-östlicher  Divan  is  to  be  referred  to 
this  movement,  though  it  soon  went  far  beyond  the  source 
of  its  inspiration.  Directly  romantic  is  the  close  of  Die 
Wahlverwandtschaften  and,  unfortunately,  likewise  that  of 
Faust,  in  the  Second  Part  of  which  in  general  all  sorts  of 
Strange  and  foreign  things  point  to  the  manner,  both  good 
and  bad,  of  romanticism. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  things,  the  differences  were 
greater  than  the  common  interests  and  the  agreements. 
Even  in  outward  things  it  is  a significant  fact  that,  with  the 
one  possible  exception  of  Schelling,  these  friendly  personal 
relations  of  Goethe  to  the  representatives  of  romanticism 
all  ended  in  discord,  ill  feeling,  and  rupture.  This,  how- 
ever,  but  revealed  the  deep-seateh,  essential  differences. 
Their  overwrought  subjectivity  made  him  all  the  more 
conscious  of  his  classical  objectivity,  and  their  capricious 
formlessness  of  his  finely  developed  feeling  for  style.  The 
industrious  man  could  have  no  pleasure  in  their  glorification 
of  “divine  idleness.”  To  their  frivolous  dallying  with  a 
mariage  ä quatre  he  opposed,  in  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften, 
almost  pathetically  and  with  premeditated  harshness,  the 
sacredness  and  indissolubility  of  this  moral  bond.*  And 
the  “ pathological  element”  which  he  thought  to  recognise 
in  Heinrich  von  Kleist  made  it  to  his  mind  once  for  all  clear 
that,  as  he  later  briefly  and  trenchantly  put  it,  “ the  classical 
is  the  wholesome  and  the  romantic  is  the  unwholesome.” 
Even  Uhland,  as  is  well  known,  had  to  suft'er  under  this 
pronouncement  of  condemnation. 

The  way  for  the  rupture  was  early  prepared  by  the 
theories  of  art  set  forth  by  Tieck  and  Wackenroder  in  Franz 
Sternhaids  Wanderungen  and  Herzensergiessungen  eines  kunst- 
liebenden Klosterbruders,  to  which  the  two  Schlegels  very 
soon  professed  their  allegiance.  It  is  true  that  in  his  youth 
* See  vol.  ii.,  p.  385  f. 


Hfter  tbe  Mars  of  ‘Hiberation 


147 


Goethe  had  evinced  a thorough  understanding  of  German 
nature  and  art  and  an  exultant  enthusiasm  for  the  wonderful 
Gothic  structure  of  Ervinus  in  Strasburg.  But  meanwhile 
he  had  been  in  Italy  and  had  taken  that  decided  tum  of 
aff ecting  the  antique ; in  the  theory  of  art  especially  he  had 
become  a “heathen,”  and  fragments  from  Greek  temples 
were  to  him  “ sacred  relics.” 

Roman ticism  took  the  opposite  direction.  It  had  begun 
by  aff  ecting  the  antique;  but  in  its  flaunted  “rage  for  ob- 
jectivity  ” there  was  from  the  beginning  an  element  of  over- 
passionateness  and  distinct  subjectivity;  their  enthusiasm 
for  things  Greek  was  a pathological  “ Grecomania.”  And 
so  after  a sudden  change,  which  soon  took  place,  they  no 
longer  found  their  ideal  among  the  Greeks : they  now  saw 
in  the  Middle  Ages  the  source  of  renewal,  not  only  for 
the  life  of  the  nation  and  for  art,  but  also  for  Church  and 
State,  for  politics  and  religion.  Taking  Dürer  as  a starting- 
point,  the  movement  was  at  first  rather  Protestant  in  tone, 
but  on  going  back  to  the  pre-Raphaelites  the  leaders  very 
soon  began  to  complain  of  the  dry,  rational  hollowness  of 
the  reformation,  and  in  the  end  praised  the  period  of  the 
thirteenth  Century  as  the  only  genuinely  Christian  age.  In 
the  pictures  of  the  Middle  Ages  they  lauded  the  severe, 
spare  figures,  the  naive  costumes,  the  genial,  childlike  sim- 
plicity  and  narrowness  of  thefaces;  and  in  medieval  reli- 
gion, the  love  of  the  wonderfully  beautiful  woman,  the 
holy  mother  of  Christendom,  who  with  her  divine  power 
was  ready  to  save  every  believer  from  the  most  terrible 
dangers.  Thus  in  art  Nazarenism  was  proclaimed,  and  in 
life  Friedrich  Schlegel,  and  after  him  many  other  fellow- 
romanticists,  became  Catholics. 

This  was  just  as  objectionable  to  Goethe’s  artistic  taste 
as  to  his  “pronounced  heathenism.”  So,  after  many  signs 
pointing  to  the  approaching  rupture,  he  wrote,  in  1805 : 
“So  soon  as  ever  I find  anything  like  the  necessary  time 
and  mood  I shall  portray  once  for  all  the  nature  of  these 
neo-Catholic  artists”;  for  “a  treaty  of  peace  with  such 
people  accomplishes  nothing;  they  only  seek  the  more 


148 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


shamelessly  to  extend  their  influence.”  He  protested  pub- 
licly  against  “the  verbiage  of  neo-Catholic  sentimentality 
and  against  the  unctuous  nonsense  of  the  disciples  of  the 
Klosterbruder  and  Franz  Stembald,”  and,  in  his  Winckel- 
mann,  expressly  declared  his  adherence  to  the  opposing 
school  of  classicism.  Yet  even  then  he  was  not  blind  to  the 
merits  of  medieval  poetry  and  art.  He  found  enjoyment 
both  in  the  folk-songs  of  Des  Knaben  Wunderhorn  and  in 
the  strong,  healthy  characters  of  the  Nibelungenlied,  and 
finally,  through  the  influence  of  the  Boisseree  brothers,  even 
became,  as  we  have  already  seen,  deeply  interested  in  the 
Cologne  cathedral  and  old  German  painters.  To  be  sure, 
the  rejoicing  which  this  conversion  of  the  “old  heathen” 
produced  among  the  romanticists  was  of  but  short  duration. 
In  his  joumal,  Kunst  und  Altertum,  he  immediately  after- 
ward turned  his  back  again  on  the  Middle  Ages  and  in  1818 
proclaimed  once  more  his  educational  ideal  and  artistic 
creed,  “ Let  every  man  be  a Greek  in  his  own  way,  but  let 
him  be  a Greek.” 

It  was  not  only  his  classicism,  but  just  as  much,  if  not 
more,  his  Protestantism  that  revolted  and  protested  against 
the  Catholicising  tendencies  of  the  romanticists,  and  their 
fondness  for  the  Middle  Ages.  Even  in  books  which  ap- 
parently  had  nothing  to  do  with  these  things,  as,  for  ex- 
ample,  Friedrich  Schlegel’s  book  Uber  die  Sprache  und 
Weisheit  der  Indier  (1808),  he  now  discovered  the  despisöd 
features:  “All  the  subjects  which  he  [Schlegel,  in  this  book] 
treats  are,  as  a matter  of  fact,  used  only  as  vehicles  to  bring 
certain  sentiments  gradually  to  public  notice  and  with  a 
certain  honourable  appearance  to  set  himself  up  as  an 
apostle  of  an  obsolete  doctrine.”  He  expresses  himself 
still  more  vigorously.  He  sees  in  it  “ a very  clever  way  of 
smuggling  back  into  good  society  the  miserable  devil,  to- 
gether  with  his  grandmother  and  all  their  everlasting, 
malodorous  retinue.”  He  condemned  most  decidedly  Fried- 
rich Schlegel’s  conversion  to  the  Catholic  faith,  “ because 
at  no  time  has  such  a remarkable  case  occurred,  of  a superior 
and  most  highly  educated  talent,  which,  in  the  highest  light 


Hfter  tbe  Mars  of  Xiberatton 


149 


of  reason,  understanding,  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  has 
been  inveigled  into  dressing  itself  up  and  playing  the  buga- 
boo.”  He  declared  boldly,  on  the  other  hand,  that  “to 
draw  nearer  to  Protestantism  is  the  tendency  of  all  those 
who  would  differentiate  themselves  from  the  populace.” 
We  now  understand  how,  on  the  occasion  of  the  tercentenary 
of  the  reformation,  he  could  declare  himself  so  decidedly 
opposed,  as  a Protestant,  to  this  neo-Catholic  movement 
and  how  he  could  maintain  that  “we  cannot  honour  our 
Luther  more  highly  than  by  publicly  declaring  with  serious- 
ness  and  with  force,  and  by  repeating  often,  what  we  consider 
right  and  what  we  hold  to  be  advantageous  for  the  nation 
and  the  times.” 

In  the  winter  of  1816-1817  he  even  feit  called  upon  to 
assert  his  Protestant  views  in  Opposition  to  Schelling,  when 
the  question  arose  of  calling  this  scholar  back  to  Jena.  No- 
body had  a better  appreciation  than  he  of  the  importance 
of  this  great  thinker.  But  the  philosopher’s  views,  with 
which  his  own  had  once  so  well  harmonised,  had  meanwhile 
assumed  a mystic,  plainly  Catholicising  trend.  Hence 
Goethe  declared  with  determination  that  there  was  no  place 
for  such  a man  in  Jena.  To  Minister  von  Voigt,  who  wras  in 
favour  of  issuing  the  call,  he  wrote  that  it  would  seem  to 
him  comical  if,  at  the  tercentenary  of  “our  truly  great 
Protestant  victory,  one  should  see  the  old  out-of-date  stuff 
again  introduced  under  a renewed  mystico-pantheistic 
form.”  To  him  the  truly  great  Protestant  victory  meant, 
above  all,  the  emancipation  of  reason,  the  “ Christian  man’s” 
regained  freedom  of  thought  and  belief.  Hence  in  a cantata 
for  the  celebration  of  the  reformation  he  would  glorify 
Luther’s  memorable  deed  in  no  other  way  than  by  drawing 
a pregnant  contrast  between  the  Old  Testament  and  the 
New,  between  law  and  freedom,  which,  as  he  adds  by  way 
of  explanation,  becomes  law  through  faith  and  love.  He 
would  let  it  be  known  that  the  Catholic  Church  still  stood 
on  the  ground  of  the  Old  Testament  and  had  departed  from 
it  only  in  so  far  as  it  had  added  to  this  ground  heathenism 
and  polytheism.  Hence  in  the  poem  Dem  31.  Oktober  1817 


i5o 


TTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


he  could  well  consider  himself  and  those  like  him  as  “ preach- 
ers,”  as  the  real  successors  of  Luther,  who  continue  the 
reformer’s  battle  against  obscurants  and  Romanists : 

and)  bcr  Pfaffe  finnt  unb  fd)(eicf)t, 

£)er  ^rebtger  fte^t  gur  SBadje.* 

We  now  see  why,  after  a conversation  with  Goethe,  so 
much  misunderstood  as  to  his  German  sentiments  and  en- 
thusiasm  for  liberty,  Vamhagen  von  Ense,  who  had  fought 
in  the  wars  of  liberation  and  now  stood  on  the  liberal  side, 
should  have  written,  full  of  astonishment,  to  his  friend  the 
Prussian  Privy  Councillor  Stägemann:  “Goethe  no  German 
patriot?  In  his  breast  was  early  gathered  all  the  freedom 
of  Germania,  and  there  it  became,  to  the  never  fully  ap- 
preciated  benefit  of  us  all,  the  model,  the  example,  the  main 
trunk  of  the  national  tree  of  edueation.  We  all  walk  in 
the  shade  of  this  tree.  Never  have  roots  taken  a firmer 
hold  and  penetrated  deeper  into  the  soil  of  our  native  coun- 
try,  and  never  have  they  drawn  more  powerfully  and  more 
constantly  from  her  vital  sources.  Our  warlike  youth  and 
the  loftier  sentiments  which  inspired  them  have  truly 
more  in  common  with  this  spirit  than  with  manv  another 
who  boasts  of  having  been  parti cularly  active  at  the  time.’’ 
These  words  of  Vamhagen  show  correctly  Goethe’s  Op- 
position to  the  reactionary  political  tendencies  which  ro- 
manticism  had  assumed  through  the  work  of  Novalis  and 
Gentz.  They  also  prove  that  as  a man  of  liberal  thought 
and  patriotic  sentiments  Vamhagen  was  in  no  sense  offended 
at  Goethe  for  holding  himself  aloof  from  the  national  pathos 
of  romanticism.  Indeed,  at  that  very  time  Goethe  was 
himself  one  of  the  greatest  national  possessions  of  the  German 
people.  As  Vamhagen  correctly  observed,  Goethe  took 
liberty  in  that  high  sense  of  the  self-emancipation  of  man 
to  a life  of  reason.  He  saw  herein  the  German’s  most 
peculiar  and  most  sublime  task  and  worked  at  it  himself 
with  all  his  strength  throughout  the  whole  of  his  life.  Thus 

* Whate’er  the  sneaking  priest  may  plan, 

The  preacher  Stands  on  guard. 


Hfter  tbe  Mara  of  Liberation 


151 

he  fought  in  his  own  way  for  the  cause  of  Germanic  freedom, 
and  his  efforts  are  deserving  of  recognition.  Everything 
in  Opposition  to  his  labours,  whether  tyranny,  narrowness, 
or  stupidity,  he  either  designated  by  the  general  term 
“ priestcraft,”  or  called  it  “ Philistinism,”- — the  word  which 
he  employed  more  frequently  and  for  which  he  showed  the 
greater  preference.  With  reference  to  his  activity  in  this 
field  he  placed  himself,  in  righteous  self-consciousness,  by 
the  side  of  the  greatest  German  liberators,  Blücher  and 
Luther. 

3Ijr  fönnt  mir  immer  ungefdjeut 
SBie  ölüdjern  Denimai  fegen; 
fßon  fransen  fjat  (Sr  (Sud)  befreit, 

3d)öon  fßtjififternegen.* 

As  a liberator  Goethe  could  hope  to  exert  an  influence 
only  because  he  himself  was  free  and  because  he  made  him- 
self more  and  more  free  from  the  thousand  bonds  which 
fettered  others.  This  spiritual  self-liberation  gave  him  also 
that  extraordinary  equanimity  toward  everything  that 
came  to  him  from  without.  True,  he  occasionally  lost  his 
equanimity  for  a moment,  but  he  regained  it  the  next 
moment,  especially  in  the  later  years  of  his  life.  And  that 
was  an  inestimable  blessing,  both  for  him  and  for  the  world . 
Without  this  liberating  equilibrium  of  soul,  his  high  degree 
of  sensitiveness,  a necessary  qualification  of  the  great  poet, 
would  have  brought  his  power  and  influence  to  an  untimelv 
end. 

Düring  the  year  1817  he  had  more  than  one  specially 
hard  trial  to  undergo.  We  have  already  heard  of  the  storm 
of  reaction  which,  toward  the  end  of  the  year,  caused  heavy 
waves  to  break  over  the  deck  of  the  Weimar  ship  of  state. 
The  beginning  of  the  year,  however,  had  brought  him  per- 
sonally  still  worse  experiences.  The  loving  care  with  which 
he  had  fostered  the  Weimar  Theatre  did  not  save  him  from 

* As  well  to  me  as  Blücher  ye 
A monument  may  raise; 

From  Frenchmen  he  has  made  you  free, 

I from  Philistine  ways. 


lS2 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


grating  ingratitude.  In  the  long  years  that  he  had  superin- 
tended  the  stage  it  had  caused  him  many  a hard  hour.  But 
in  so  far  as  actors,  musicians,  authors,  audiences,  financial 
distress,  and  disfavour  of  the  times  were  the  cause  of  his 
vexation,  his  innermost  being  had  not  been  affected.  He 
overcame  these  things  as  one  overcomes  bad  weather. 

In  the  case  of  the  conflicts  with  the  Duke,  into  which  he 
was  from  time  to  time  drawn  on  account  of  the  theatre,  it 
was  different.  These  were  particularly  sharp  from  the  time 
that  the  beautiful  and  distinguished  actress  and  singer  Karo- 
line  Jagemann  became  the  object  of  the  Duke’s  love,  and 
desired  to  see  the  theatre  conducted  according  to  her  own 
ideas.  As  far  back  as  1808  the  opposing  forces  had  come  to 
such  a violent  clash  that  Goethe  asked  for  his  dismissal. 
The  difference  was  temporarily  adjusted,  but  strained 
relations  continued,  owing  to  the  secret  influence  of  the 
actress  Jagemann.  In  April,  1817,  the  gathering  storm 
broke. 

An  actor  by  the  name  of  Karsten  was  at  that  time  trav- 
elling  about  with  a trained  poodle  which  he  was  exhibiting 
to  the  theatre-going  public  in  a melodrama  adapted  from 
the  French,  entitled  Der  Hund  des  Aubry  de  Montdidier. 
He  directed  to  Goethe  a request  for  permission  to  produce 
this  piece  in  Weimar,  with  his  dog  in  the  title  röle.  Goethe 
flatly  refused  the  request  as  a lowering  of  the  dignity  of  the 
stage.  The  actor  then  applied  to  the  Grand  Duke,  and 
the  latter,  a passionate  lover  of  dogs,  signified  his  desire 
that  the  request  be  granted.  As  Goethe  persisted  in  his  re- 
fusal  the  Grand  Duke  issued  a command  that  the  perform- 
ance  be  given.  Sorely  offended  at  the  disregard  of  his 
objections,  Goethe  left  home  and  went  to  Jena,  leaving  the 
staging  of  the  piece  to  the  other  members  of  the  board  of 
directors. 

He  may  at  that  time  have  made  known  his  intention  to 
retire  from  the  directorship. 21  But  he  still  lived  in  hopes 
that  an  amicable  ad  justment  would  be  possible  and  that 
the  Grand  Duke  would  abandon  the  performance.  The 
futility  of  his  hopes  was  demonstrated  on  the  1 2th  of  April, 


Sfter  tbe  Mars  of  Xiberation 


153 


when  the  performance  actually  took  place.  And  even  before 
Goethe  had  taken  a decisive  step,  the  Grand  Duke,  espe- 
cially  prompted,  as  is  said,  by  the  actress,  wrote  to  Goethe 
on  the  i3th  of  April,  granting  his  dismissal,  alleging  as  the 
reason  for  his  action  that  various  utterances  which  had 
come  to  his  notice  had  convinced  him  that  Goethe  wished 
to  be  relieved  of  his  duties  as  director  of  the  Court  Theatre. 
By  reporting  at  once  to  the  board  of  directors  his  disposition 
of  the  case,  he  made  his  decision  irrevocable.  Thus  Goethe 
was  tumed  out  of  the  office. 

As  a sage  and  a seer  he  was  prepared  for  many  things, 
but  that  his  imperishable  achievements  of  twenty-six  years 
at  the  head  of  the  Weimar  Theatre  should  come  to  such  a 
humiliating  and  offensive  end  had  certainly  never  entered 
the  realm  of  his  faintest  suspicions.  Very  soon  Karl  August 
in  his  natural  goodness  of  heart  feit  to  what  an  injustice  he 
had  allowed  himself,  in  the  heat  of  passion,  to  be  carried 
away.  He  went  to  Jena,  where  Goethe  was  still  staying, 
and  there  appeased  the  poet’s  anger  and  sealed  their  re- 
conciliation  with  a hearty  embrace.  Even  though  the  dis- 
missal could  no  longer  be  recalled,  nevertheless  Goethe  was 
able  to  continue  with  honour  to  perform  his  other  ofhcial 
duties,  and — what  is  of  more  importance — it  was  possible 
for  the  friendly  relation  between  prince  and  minister  to 
continue. 

Though  the  circumstances  under  which  his  Separation 
from  the  theatre  had  been  brought  about  may  have  affected 
him  very  painfully — years  afterward  the  wound  still  bumed 
so  that  there  is  not  a word  about  the  event  in  his  Annalen — 
nevertheless  he  could  but  welcome  the  fact  itself.  He  had 
found  less  and  less  pleasure  in  the  institution.  It  was  a 
perpetual  source  of  trouble  to  be  able  no  longer  to  meet  the 
competition  of  the  large  theatres.  The  previous  year  he 
had  lost  his  best  actors,  Herr  and  Frau  Wolf,  who  had  gone 
to  Berlin,  and  he  was  too  old  to  train  others  to  take  their 
places.  Furthermore  his  mission  was  now  fulfilled.  He 
had  created  in  Weimar  a style  suited  to  the  higher  type  of 
dramatical  production,  and  this  style  had  been  adopted 


^54 


£be  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


and  was  still  cultivated  by  the  best  theatres  of  Germany. 
He  could  now  leave  the  Weimar  stage  to  work  out  its  own 
destiny,  and  could  devote  the  valuable  time  and  the  peace 
of  mind  of  which  it  was  robbing  him  to  the  great  problems 
that  it  was  still  incumbent  upon  him  to  solve.  By  a very 
peculiar,  but  most  happy,  dispensation  of  fate,  the  dismissal 
in  1817  and  the  decrees  of  the  German  Confederation  in 
1819  gave  him  the  rest  which  he  most  ardently  desired. 
From  that  time  on  neither  public  affairs  nor  his  official  Posi- 
tion caused  him  any  further  disturbances.  The  fruits  still 
hanging  on  his  tree  of  life  had  a warm  serene  autumn  in 
which  to  attain  a perfect  maturity. 

On  the  28Ü1  of  August,  1819,  Goethe  reached  his  seven- 
tieth  birthday.  On  this  occasion,  as  usual,  he  himself  with- 
drew  from  the  birthday  celebration.  He  spent  the  day 
quietly  on  the  way  to  Karlsbad.  Throughout  Germany, 
with  the  exception  of  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  the  important 
epoch  in  the  great  poet’s  life  was  celebrated  only  in  a quiet 
manner.  Political  dissatisfaction  lay  like  a mountain  of 
lead  on  the  spirits  of  all.  The  representatives  of  the  German 
States,  assembled  in  Karlsbad,  were  just  in  the  act  of  clipping 
the  wings  of  the  German  national  Spirit  shorter  than  before. 
They  called  it  suppressing  the  revolutionary  Spirit.  The 
Conferences  were  ruled  by  the  all-powerful  Austrian  minister, 
Prince  Metternich.  He  was  the  first  person  in  Karlsbad  to 
whom  Goethe  paid  a visit.  The  poet’s  motive  for  haste  in 
making  this  visit  was  probably  not  merely  a desire  to  dis- 
charge  a duty  of  politeness  toward  a prince  whom  he  had 
known  for  some  time:  he  doubtless  recognised  the  oppor- 
tunity  to  dispose  Metternich  more  kindly  both  toward 
Weimar,  which  the  statesman  would  gladlv  have  erased 
from  the  list  of  German  States,  and  toward  the  Grand  Duke, 
whom  he  scomfully  referred  to  as  the  “old  buck.”  Goethe 
says  in  his  Annalen:  “ As  usual,  I found  in  him  a gracious 
lord.”  This  means  that  the  poet  succeeded  in  accomplish- 
ing  his  purposes. 

After  Goethe  had  again  taken  the  eure  in  Karlsbad  the 


Bfter  tbe  IKflare  of  Xiberation 


T55 


following  year,  but,  as  it  seems,  without  being  entirely 
satisfied  with  the  results,  he  decided  the  next  year  (1821) 
to  try  the  mineral  springs  of  the  newly  established  Marien- 
bad. He  met  there  the  beautiful  widow  Frau  von  Levetzow 
and  her  three  charming  daughters,  Ulrike,  Amalie,  and 
Bertha.  Just  as  he  had  formerly  been  so  fascinated  with 
the  mother  that  he  compared  her  to  Pandora,  so  he  nowy 
discovered  an  unusual  attraction  in  her  oldest  daughter. 
She  was  only  seventeen  years  old,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was 
younger  women  that  the  aged  poet  particularly  liked.  He 
joked  concerning  himself  at  the  time  as  follows: 

Slltcr,  l)ör[t  bu  ttüdj  nid)t  auf? 

Stntner  9)LibcE)cn! 

3n  bem  jungen  SebenSlauf 
2Bat’$  ein  Äätdjen. 

2öe(cf)e  jeht  ben  Jag  üerfn^t, 

©ag’3  mit  Älarbeit ! * 

Whether  because  of  the  benefit  derived  from  the  waters 
of  Marienbad,  or  because  of  his  longing  to  see  Ulrike’s  dear 
face  once  more,  suffice  it  to  say,  we  find  him  again  the 
following  summer  at  the  springs  in  Company  with  the 
Levetzow  family.  What  a twelvemonth  before  had  been 
a pleasant  pastime  became  now  a deeper,  more  serious 
feeling,  which  developed  into  love.  A third  long  sojourn 
together  the  following  summer  (1823),  and  the  fire  of  love 
flamed  forth  in  full  force  from  the  heart  of  the  aged  poet. 
The  brown  hair  and  blue  eyes,  the  nineteen  years,  the  in- 
genuous  assurance,  the  serenity,  cheerfulness,  goodness, 
and  cordiality  of  the  young  girl,  who  had  received  her 
education  in  Strasburg  and  hence,  in  a sense,  was  an 
Alsatian, — these  things  taken  together  may  have  caused 
Ulrike  to  appear  to  the  poet  as  a Friederike  brought  back 
to  life.  “Repeated  reflection”  is  an  optical  phenomenon 

* Greybeard,  still  no  end  in  view? 

Maidens  ever? 

In  thy  youth  thou  soughtst  to  woo 
Kätchen’s  favour. 

Who  doth  now  thy  day  delight? 

Teil  me  frankly. 


Gbe  %\f e of  (Boetbe 


i56 

that  he  had  observed  more  than  once  in  the  course  of  his 
life.  And  did  he  not  now  awake  to  a new  existence  under 
the  magic  influence  of  this  budding  maiden?  Did  he  not 
experience  a new  youth?  He  even  found  pleasure  again 
in  dancing!  He  attended  the  dancing  parties  and,  this 
summer,  finished  his  seventy-third  and  entered  his  seventy- 
fourth  year  dancing.  Who  could  have  told  by  his  ap- 
pearance  that  this  man  with  delicately  flushed  face,  fiery 
eyes,  a full  head  of  brown  hair  with  hardly  a trace  of  gray, 
an  elastic  step,  and  an  erect  bearing,  who  chatted  graciously 
and  with  animation,  and  moved  about  upon  the  floor  with 
one  of  the  youngest  ladies,  was  really  a man  of  seventy-four? 
And  had  he  not  reason  to  hope  that,  if  he  should  enter  into 
a permanent  union  with  youth,  this  rejuvenation  would 
continue,  in  defiance  of  nature,  tili  the  demon  death  should 
drag  him  into  his  grave?  Why  should  Ulrike  not  be  pre- 
pared  to  enter  the  bond?  Why  should  she  not  retum  his 
love?  He  saw  how  all  the  young  girls  were  attached  to  him, 
how  their  faces  lighted  up  when  he  approached,  how  tenderly 
they  treated  him,  how  eager  they  were  to  caress  him  and  be 
caressed  by  him. 

©el)’  icf)  l)ier,  fie  fontmt  [jetan, 

ÜJiiemanb  fieljt  unS  beiben  an, 

2Sic  mir  lieben!  * 

r What  a rosy  hue  would  be  imparted  to  his  home  if  this 
rising  sun  should  enter  it!  To  be  sure,  it  had  not  been 
desolated  by  the  death  of  Christiane.  Soon  after  her  decease 
his  own  son  had  married  Ottilie  von  Pogwisch,  the  dowerless 
daughter  of  a divorced  lady  at  the  Court.  Ottilie  had 
married  the  son  more  for  the  sake  of  the  father,  to  whom 
she  looked  up  with  tender  admiration.  She  was  a cheerfuh 
intelligent,  original  woman  of  fine  temperament,  and 
Goethe  had  in  her  the  best  partner  imaginable  for  his  con- 
versations,  no  matter  what  they  might  concem.  She  had 
meanwhile  brought  into  the  world  two  sons,  whom  Goethe 

* Where  I go  she  comes  to  me; 

No  one  in  our  looks  can  see 
How  we  love. 


Hfter  tbe  UQars  of  Xiberation 


157 


loved  dearly  and  who  afforded  him  great  joy.  There  was 
now  more  life  and  variety  in  the  house  than  before  Chris- 
tiane’s  death.  But  the  married  life  of  August  and  Ottilie 
quickly  became  very  unhappy.  Their  two  natures  were 
incompatible.  Being  each  endowed  with  a strong  spirit 
of  liberty,  they  followed  their  own  ways,  August  the  pre- 
cipitous  paths  from  which  his  father  had  hoped  to  turn  him 
aside  by  means  of  marriage.  There  were  many  moments  of 
ill-humour  over  which  the  husband  and  wife  were  unable 
to  gain  control,  even  in  the  presence  of  the  father.  In  a 
letter  from  Marienbad,  in  which  he  wished  gently  to  prepare 
the  children  for  a knowledge  of  his  future  intentions,  Goethe 
referred  very  mildly  and  delicately  to  the  Situation  at  home 
in  these  words:  “The  days  we  have  spent  together,  good 

and  sensible  people  though  we  be,  have  often  been  extremely 
dull,  to  my  despair.  We  lack  a third  or  fourth  member  to 
complete  the  circle.”  He  signed  himself  a “ ‘loving’  father 
in  the  most  beautiful  sense  of  the  word.” 

Hopeful  as  the  aged  poet  was  of  receiving  from  Ulrike 
a favourable  reply,  he  himself  was  neither  able  nor  willing 
to  make  a proposal  to  her.  But  a distinguished  mediator 
was  found  in  the  person  of  the  Grand  Duke,  who  happened 
to  be  present.  He  acquainted  the  mother  with  Goethe’s 
desire.  She  was  certainly  not  in  doubt  as  to  Ulrike’s  Senti- 
ments, but,  as  it  was  her  duty  to  inquire,  she  did  so  and 
received  an  unfavourable,  or  at  least  an  evasive,  answer, 
which  was  equivalent  to  a refusal. 22  There  was  a world- 
wide  difference  between  caressing  in  her  proud  happiness 
the  glorious  man  of  fame  who  showed  so  plainly  his  affection 
for  her,  between  giving  free  expression  to  her  tender  feeling 
for  him  while  allowing  him  the  same  liberty  towards  her, 
and  marrying  him.  Youth  demands  youth,  and  even  the 
most  clever,  most  amiable,  most  celebrated  old  man  can 
not  equal  the  simple,  bashful  youth,  unknown  to  fame,  who 
beholds  in  his  beloved  his  all,  who  becomes  one  with  her  in 
heart  and  mind  and  goes  through  life  exulting  and  lamenting 
with  her,  and  sharing  with  her  his  pleasure  and  his  pain. 

Out  of  consideration  for  the  distinguished  suitor  and  for 


Zlbe  %\f e of  (Soetbe 


i58 

his  highbom  wooer,  as  well  as  for  the  undisturbeb  contin- 
uation  of  the  so  valued,  beautiful  intercourse,  Frau  von 
Levetzow  probably  gave,  instead  of  Ulrike’s  frank  or  veiled 
refusal,  an  answer  which  postponed  the  final  decision  and 
left  some  room  for  hope.  Thus  the  days  in  Marienbad, 
which  were  followed  by  another  series  of  days  spent  together 
in  Karlsbad,  came  to  an  harmonious  end. 

The  moment  of  Separation  wTas  a hard  one  for  Goethe. 
Every  parting  from  a beloved  person  is  painful.  He  must 
have  feared  that  a future  meeting  would  be  denied  him, 
either  by  fate — his  age  may  have  caused  a vision  of  death 
to  rise  before  his  eyes — or  by  the  enigmatical  will  of  the 
beloved  maiden,  for  his  pain  rose  to  an  excruciating  in- 
tensity.  He  journeyed  toward  home  filled  with  painfully 
bitter  feelings.  But  while  man  by  misery  is  rendered  dumb 
a god  gave  him  the  gift  to  teil  his  woe.  He  poured  his 
sorrow  into  the  soulful  stanzas  which  later  became  known 
as  the  Marienbad  Elegie  (second  number  of  the  Trilogie  der 
Leidenschaft),  and  alleviated  his  pain  by  lending  it  words. 
Along  with  his  lamentation  of  sorrow  he  sought  also  to 
recall  as  closely  as  possible  the  picture  of  his  beloved,  to- 
gether with  the  happiness  of  the  vanished  weeks,  and  this, 
too,  helped  to  reconcile  him. 

2Bte  gum  (Empfang  fie  an  bcn  Pforten  ineilte 
Unb  mid)  non  bannauf  ftufenroeiö  beglfnfte, 

0elbft  nad)  bem  lebten  &n$  mid)  nod)  ereilte, 

Den  lejjteften  mir  auf  bie  Sippen  brfnfte: 

0o  flar  berneglid)  bleibt  bas  s3ilb  ber  Sieben 
90?it  glammenfd)rift  ins  treue  $erg  getrieben. 

9hm  bin  id)  fern!  'Der  jetzigen  Minute, 

2BaS  giemt  betm  ber?  3d)  ttnifsf  eS  nidjt  gu  fagetu 
0ie  bietet  mir  gum  0d)ötten  manches  ©ute; 

DaS  laftet  nur,  id)  tnu|  mid)  ibm  ent[d)lagen. 

9Wid)  treibt  innbcr  ein  unbegtuinglid)  ©ebnen, 

Da  bleibt  fein  Diät  als  grengenlofe  Dränen.* 

* As  at  the  door  she  waited  with  a greeting 

And  then  each  step  upon  the  stairs  would  bless; 

The  last  kiss  giv’n,  would  run,  my  leave  entreating 


Hfter  tbe  Wars  of  Xiberation 


I59 


When  he  arrived  at  home  on  the  i7th  of  September  there 
was  another  hard  ordeal  awaiting  him.  He  had  to  speak 
frankly  to  his  children  about  the  intentions  which  he  cher- 
ished.  Ottilie  was  ill  and  had  nothing  to  say.  August 
expressed  himself  all  the  more  plainly.  While  he  had  the 
highest  respect  for  his  father,  he  could  not  understand  how, 
with  his  usual  wisdom  and  discretion,  his  father,  at  his 
advanced  age,  and  after  he  had  come  so  perilously  near 
dying  the  previous  spring,  should  want  to  marry  such  a very 
young  girl.  The  idea  may  have  seemed  to  him  a crazy 
whim,  a fantastic  aberration,  which  would  have  to  be  dealt 
with  without  any  consideration.  Furthermore  the  thought 
that  his  present  existence,  and  still  more  his  future,  was 
jeopardised  by  the  proposed  marriage,  must  unconsciously 
have  intensified  his  excited  Opposition  to  it.  Ottilie’s  sister, 
who  lived  in  the  house  with  them  and  thought  as  he  did 
about  the  matter,  eontributed  nothing  toward  his  pacifica- 
tion.  So  a harsher  clash  could  not  have  been  imagined. 
In  a letter  written  at  the  time  (September  25,  1823)  Chan- 
cellor von  Müller,  one  of  Goethe’s  dearest  and  most  intimate 
friends  in  the  last  fifteen  years  of  his  life,  characterised 
August’s  bearing  as  rüde  and  loveless.  He  spoke  of  him  as 
a crazy  fellow,  who  played  toward  his  father  the  part  of  one 
piqued.  He  referred  also  to  Ulrike’s  (the  sister-in-law’s) 
gruff  one-sidedness  and  shallow  naivete,  adding  that  such 
companions  were  ill  suited  to  guide  the  poet  gently  and 
tenderly  through  such  a crisis.  Charlotte  von  Schiller’s 
report  of  the  affair  is  similar.  One  can  fancy  how  the  old 
man’s  tender  heart,  still  bleeding  from  the  wound  of  parting, 
suffered  under  the  cudgellings  of  his  closest  environment. 

A “lastest”  kiss  upon  my  lips  to  press. — 

These  flame-traced  scenes  of  her  I dearly  cherish 
From  out  my  faithful  heart  shall  never  perish. 

I now  am  far  away.  What  is  the  duty 

Confronts  me  here?  No  answer  I can  find. 

The  present  offers  much  of  good  and  beauty; 

Yet  of  its  weight  I fain  would  rid  my  mind. 

A ceaseless  longing  hath  of  hope  bereft  me, 

No  counsel  save  unbounded  tears  is  left  me. 


i6o 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


Chancellor  von  Müller  said  in  the  same  letter:  “He  is  at 
times  extremely  ill-humoured  and  depressed.” 

The  stubborn  Opposition  led  him  to  reflect.  Becoming 
doubtful  whether  the  realisation  of  his  dream  would  mean 
happiness  for  himself  and  his  beloved,  he  decided  to  renounce 
the  plan.  A week  later  he  said  to  Müller:  “I  shall  get 

over  my  affection  for  Fräulein  von  Levetzow,  I know;  but 
it  will  mean  a long,  hard  struggle.”  Such  a resolution  was 
more  easily  formed  than  carried  out.  A revulsion  of  feel- 
ing  came.  The  Opposition  wdiich  the  renunciation  en- 
countered  in  his  own  inner  being  caused  him  to  reconsider 
the  matter  from  all  points  of  view.  For  example,  such 
questions  arose  as  whether  the  sacrifice  was  after  all  neces- 
sary,  and  whether  it  was  not  too  costly,  seeing  that  it  was 
exhausting  his  strength.  These  hard  struggles  with  himself 
and  with  those  about  him  were  certainly  contributory  causes 
to  another  serious  illness  in  November.  In  this  illness 
the  remedy  which  gave  him  most  strength,  and  to  which  he 
had  recourse  time  and  again,  was  the  Elegie,  that  painful, 
yet  sweet,  reflection  of  the  wonderfully  beautiful  summer 
days.  Was  not  its  effect  upon  him  a clear  indication  of  the 
direction  in  which  he  should  tum  for  self-preservation  ? 
Thus  at  the  close  of  the  year  we  find  him  free  from  all 
thoughts  of  renunciation  and  looking  forward  to  the  new 
year,  with  anxious,  but  happy,  expectation. 

On  New  Year’s  eve  he  wrote  to  Frau  von  Levetzow  the 
significant  words:  “The  new  calendar  for  1824  is  standing 
before  me.  The  twelve  months  look  neat  and  distinct,  to 
be  sure,  but  also  perfectly  indifferent.  In  vain  do  I seek 
to  discover  which  days  will  be  red-letter  days  for  me,  and 
which  will  be  black.  The  wdiole  table  is  still  a blank,  while 
wishes  and  hopes  fly  hither  and  thither.  May  mine  meet 
yours.  May  nothing,  nothing  oppose  their  success  and 
fulfilment!  Talk  over  everything  together  in  an  intimate 
hour,  as  you  would  do  more  extensively,  perhaps,  while 
walking  back  and  forth  on  the  terrace.*” 

Inspired  by  this  hopeful  expectation,  he  savs,  in  the 

* In  front  of  the  house  in  Marienbad. 


Hfter  tbe  TKflars  of  Xiberation 


161 


poem  An  Werther  (first  number  of  the  Trilogie  der  Lei- 
denschaft), which  he  composed  in  March,  1824,  for  the  jubi- 
lee  edition  of  the  novel,  that  Werther’s  shade  meets  him 
on  newly  flower-clothed  meadows.  In  an  April  letter  to 
Frau  von  Levetzow  we  hear  how  his  heart  beats  in  anti- 
cipation  of  their  being  together  again.  “ Think  of  me  with 
the  dear  children  and  grant  me  the  hope  that,  arriving  with 
the  same  feelings,  I shall  be  welcome  to  the  dear  ones  in  the 
old  place.  Meanwhile  the  neat  goblet  remains  the  confidant 
of  my  thoughts;  the  sweet  monograms  approach  my  lips, 
and,  if  it  were  not  so  far  off,  the  28th  of  August  should 
afford  me  the  most  pleasing  prospect.  A cosy  clink  of 
glasses  and  so  forth.  Ever  yours. — Goethe.” 

Summer  came,  and  this  year  the  Levetzow  family  went 
to  Dresden.  Goethe  received  a most  friendly  invitation  to 
come  there.  He  could  have  gone  to  the  Bohemian  baths 
very  conveniently  by  way  of  the  Saxon  Capital;  but  he 
stayed  at  home — in  spite  of  all  the  longing  letters.  His 
resignation  was  final.  Whether  it  had  meanwhile  been 
forced  upon  him  by  an  unequivocal  refusal  from  Ulrike — 
it  was  said  that  the  Grand  Duke  had  presented  Goethe’s 
suit  once  more  to  Frau  von  Levetzow' — , or  whether  it  came 
from  his  own  voluntary  reconsideration,  is  uncertain.  In 
any  case  any  further  meetings  after  a final  renunciation 
would  have  been  inadvisable.  Goethe  never  again  saw 
Frau  von  Levetzow  or  her  daughters;  but  he  kept  himself  in 
touch  with  the  dear  family  by  means  of  the  friendly  letters 
which  they  now  and  then  exchanged. 

Like  Friederike,  Ulrike  remained  unmarried.  She  lived  to 
be  a very  old  woman  and  died  only  a few  years  ago,  on  the 
ißth  of  November,  1899,  on  her  estate  Trziblitz,  in  Bohe- 
mia.  E very  one  who  approached  her  went  away  ref  reshed . 

As  Goethe  was  forced  to  tum  his  thoughts  away  from 
Ulrike,  the  remembrance  of  the  beautiful  mistress  of  the 
Gerbermühle  came  forward  again  more  prominently,  and  in 
lingering  with  her  in  the  spirit  and  in  his  cordial  corre- 
spondence  with  her  his  love-craving  heart  found  satisfaction 
and  repose. 


V 

FROM  1824  TO  1830 

Goethe’s  house  his  monastery — Description  of  it — His  way  of  working — 
His  assistants — Eckermann  and  his  Gespräche  mit  Goethe — Great 
stream  of  visitors  at  Goethe’s  home — Distinguished  guests — Goethe 
a grandfather — His  youthfulness,  in  spite  of  his  years — Typical 
extracts  from  his  conversations— His  humour — His  angry  moods — 
Novelle — Biographical  writings — New  complete  edition  of  his 
works — His  many-sided  interests — His  thirst  for  knowledge — His 
attitude  toward  new  literary  tendencies — His  reading  of  news- 
papers  and  periodicals — His  habit  of  viewing  things  in  their  broad, 
general  relations — His  recognition  of  his  own  place  in  history — His 
striving  after  goodness  and  purity — His  spiritual  transformation — 
The  springtime  of  his  soul — His  humility — His  power  over  his  con- 
temporaries  due  to  his  great  humanity — The  jubilees  of  Karl  Au- 
gust’s  coming  to  the  throne  and  Goethe’s  arrival  in  Weimar — Death 
of  Karl  August — Goethe’s  sojourn  at  the  Castle  of  Dornburg — Dem 
auf  gehenden  Vollmonde — Zwischen  beiden  Welten — Death  of  Frau 
von  Stein — Death  of  Grand  Duchess  Luise — Death  of  Goethe’s  son 
August — The  poet’s  power  of  recuperation. 

THE  ways  toward  the  east  and  toward  the  west  had 
become  dangerous  paths,  upon  which  the  poet  feared 
to  enter.  Consequently  he  avoided  all  travelling  for 
the  present.  Indeed  for  a long  time  he  somewhat  stub- 
bomly  refused  to  go  even  beyond  the  limits  of  the  city  of 
Weimar.  There  were  four  years,  for  example,  when  he  did 
not  visit  even  Jena,  where  he  had  formerly  been  accustomed 
to  spend  weeks  and  months  every  year;  and  yet  the  institu- 
tions  under  his  supervision  must  often  have  demanded  his 
attention.  To  be  sure,  Weimar  had  now  become  a more 
quiet  place  for  him  since  he  had  severed  his  Connection  with 
the  theatre  and  no  longer  went  to  Court,  except  on  extra or- 
dinary  occasions.  # 


162 


front  1824  to  1830 


163 

As  he  made  no  other  visits  either,  and  took  part  in  no 
gatherings  outside  his  own  home,  his  house  became  his  world, 
his  castle  in  which  he  held  court.  He  himself  preferred  to 
call  it  his  monastery,  though  there  was  little  aptness  in  the 
term;  for  behind  the  walls  of  this  monastery  was  unfolded 
a scene  of  most  abundant  life.  In  these  rooms  there  was 
nothing  dead.  Everything  spoke  to  him  in  its  own  language, 
whether  it  was  kept  in  portfolios,  in  cases,  or  in  drawers,  or 
was  fastened  on  the  walls  as  an  Ornament.  There  was  a 
very  large  Collection  of  engravings,  etchings,  drawings, 
autographs,  coins,  medals,  plaques,  majolicas,  plaster  casts, 
minerals,  plants,  fossils  (about  4000),  skeletons, — a small 
museum  of  art  and  natural  history,  which  he  had  gradually 
collected  and  to  which  his  fiery  zeal  was  still  constantly 
making  additions.  A good  drawing  or  an  interesting  fossil 
could  make  him  happy  for  days. 

The  many  objects  of  art  gave  his  rooms  a very  dis- 
tinguished  stamp.  They  made  one  forget  entirely  the  plain 
furniture  and  the  poor  architectural  proportions.  But 
there  was  one  room  which  was  kept  free  from  all  artistic 
omamentation,  namely,  his  study.  In  fact  he  had  this 
room  furnished  even  more  plainly  than  the  rest  of  the 
house.  No  curtains,  no  sofa,  no  carpet,  no  easy  chair, — 
nothing  but  hard,  stiff,  clumsy  oak  furniture,  and  bare 
walls.  He  did  not  wish  to  let  any  object  of  art  distract  his 
attention  or  any  luxury,  or  even  comfort,  make  him  careless 
or  lazy.  In  this  scantily  furnished  room  he  spent  the  fore- 
noon,  beginning  at  five  or  six  o’clock,  in  continuous  hard 
work.  He  usually  walked  about  the  large  table  and  dictated 
to  his  amanuensis.  He  covered  the  greatest  variety  of 
subjects,  such  as  novels,  biographical  writings,  essays,  and 
letters,  and  spoke  with  such  fluency  that  the  amanuensis 
had  difficulty  in  following  him.  To  be  sure,  it  had  all  been 
thought  over  and  sketched  in  the  afternoon  or  evening  of 
the  preceding  day,  or  before  eight  o’clock  in  the  moming, 
the  hour  at  which  one  of  his  amanuenses  arrived.  He 
employed  no  fewer  than  four  amanuenses.  The  chief  bürden 
rested  upon  John  and  Schuchardt,  the  latter  a man  of  uni- 


164 


Zbe  Xife  of  Goethe 


versity  training  and  in  later  years  the  director  of  the  Wei- 
mar collections  of  art.  Goethe’s  servant  Friedrich  and  the 
library  secretary  Kräuter  also  did  some  work  for  him  as 
copyists.  Riemer  and  Eckermann  served  as  assistants  of 
a higher  order.  The  former,  as  we  already  know,  had  begun 
with  the  new  Century ; the  latter,not  until  the  summer  of  1823. 

Johann  Peter  Eckermann,  bom  on  the  northem  border 
of  the  Lüneburg  Heath,  of  very  poor  parents,  had  spent 
his  youth  in  peddling,  herding  cattle,  and  gathering  wood ; 
had  then  gradually  awakened  to  a grasp  of  the  higher  world 
and,  with  a warm  interest  in  art  and  literature,  had  tried 
his  skill  in  drawing,  writing,  and  criticism,  until,  at  the  age 
of  thirty,  feeling  himself  irresistibly  drawn  toward  Goethe, 
he  had  joumeyed  on  foot  from  Hanover  to  Weimar,  where 
he  was  given  an  audience  by  the  man  whom  he  worshipped, 
and  who  had  accorded  his  poems  afavourable  reception.  Rec- 
ognising  immediately  the  usefulness  of  this  man,  who  was 
endowed  with  fine  feeling  and  a rare  gift  of  hearing,  and  who, 
as  a musing,  pliant  child  of  nature,  could  happily  Supple- 
ment Riemer’s  iron-clad  book-leaming,  Goethe  decided  to 
retain  him  in  his  employ.  He  found  in  Eckermann  a sym- 
pathetic  appreciator  of  his  half-finished  writings  and  even 
of  those  which  had  barely  been  sketched.  The  young  adept 
could  divine  the  master’s  plans,  and  knew  how,  by  means 
of  coaxing  and  flattery,  to  induce  him  to  execute  them.  He 
also  had  the  gift  of  engaging  his  great  sovereign  in  animated 
conversation,  and  of  leading  him  in  this  way  to  bring  out 
from  the  rieh  treasure-chamber  of  his  soul  the  sparkling 
jeweis  which  he  had  not  been  able  to  set  in  written  words. 
With  absolute  devotion  to  Goethe,  to  whose  words  he 
listened  as  to  the  revelations  of  a god,  he  grasped  everything 
with  great  distinetness  and  reproduced  it  in  his  diary  with 
such  fidelity  that  not  only  we  of  later  generations,  who  have 
familiarised  ourselves  with  Goethe’s  peculiar  ways  of  think- 
ing,  feel  that  his  subsequently  published  Gespräche  mit 
Goethe 23  are  thoroughly  genuine,  but  even  those  who  had 
known  the  poet  personally  have  assured  us  that  in  these 
conversations  they  could  hear  Goethe  speaking. 


Jfrotn  1824  to  1830 


165 

Beside  Eckermann  and  Riemer  Goethe  had  other  helpers : 
in  the  science-of-art  department,  his  old  friend  Meyer;  in 
the  official  supervision  of  the  state  institutions  of  art  and 
Science,  his  son,  who  assisted  him  also  in  many  other  things; 
and  in  scientific  studies  and  collections  he  not  infrequently 
was  aided  by  Soret,  who  was  called  from  Geneva  in  1822  to 
be  the  govemor  of  Karl  Alexander,  who  later  became  Grand 
Duke. 

And  still  this  staff  of  amanuenses,  assistants,  and  advis- 
ers  who  read  him  reports  on  special  topics,  does  not  exhaust 
the  list  of  those  who  were  constantly  about  him.  There 
were  further  Chancellor  von  Müller,  Chief  Architect  Coudray, 
and,  from  the  middle  of  1826  on,  his  family  physician  Dr. 
Vogel.  One  or  more  members  of  this  circle  were  usually 
his  guests  at  meals.  Eckermann  came  ordinarily  at  noon 
and  Riemer  in  the  evening  and,  after  eating,  continued 
their  work  wTith  him. 

Moreover,  though  the  many-headed  College  of  helpers  and 
family  friends  made  all  monastic  seclusion  an  impossibility, 
such  a thing  was  further  prevented  by  the  large  number  of 
visitors  who,  day  in  and  day  out,  streamed  into  the  famous 
house.  On  a fixed  day  in  the  week  appeared  the  Grand 
Duchess  Luise;  on  another  day  the  Hereditary  Grand 
Duchess  Maria  Paulowna;  together  with  them,  or  at  other 
times,  the  Princesses  Auguste  (who  later  became  the  Ger- 
man Empress)  and  Marie  (who  later  married  Prince  Karl  of 
Prussia),  to  be  instructed  by  Goethe  in  all  that  was  new 
in  art  and  literature.  At  unfixed  times  came  the  Grand 
Duke,  the  Hereditary  Grand  Duke  (the  latter  very  fre- 
quently),  and  his  younger  brother,  Duke  Bernhard.  Then 
came  the  great  train  of  his  acquaintance  and  that  of  inter- 
ested  people  of  Weimar  and  Jena,  and,  finally,  the  endless 
procession  of  foreign  guests  from  the  whole  civilised  world, 
among  whom  the  great  were  not  without  representation. 
Even  for  his  contemporaries  he  was  no  longer  the  author  of 
Werther  or  of  Faust,  but  the  supreme  representative  and 
patron  of  spiritual  life  in  general.  Men  entered  upon  the 
worldly,  and  yet  sacred,  pilgrimage  to  Goethe  with  heart- 


i66 


Zbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


stirring  expectation.  The  consciousness  of  having  gazed 
into  his  eyes  cast  on  many  a life  a splendour  which  shone 
out  brightly  in  memory  ever  after. 

First  of  all  the  young  generation  feit  drawn  to  show  him 
their  reverence  and  enthusiasm.  Even  their  most  gifted 
representative,  Byron,  had  not  refused  to  pay  literary 
homage  to  his  “liege  lord.”  Although  Goethe  did  not 
receive  every  nameless  writer  or  immature  Student,  or  the 
Berlin  butcher’s  wife  who  wished  to  express  to  him  her 
deep-felt  admiration  for  him  as  the  author  of  Das  Lied  von 
der  Glocke , ( !)  nevertheless  his  liberality  was  extraordinarily 
broad.  If  he  had  dared  follow  the  promptings  of  his  heart 
he  would  have  admitted  every  curious  person  who  waited 
patiently  outside  for  an  opportunity  to  catch  a glimpse  of  the 
famous  man. 

SBarum  fte^en  fie  bator? 

3|t  nicfjt  £ftre  ba  unb  £or  ? 

Äätnen  fie  getroft  herein, 

SBürben  rooifl  empfangen  fein.* 

The  sacrifices  of  time  and  strength  were  still  greater  when 
people  of  importance  from  abroad  prolonged  their  sojoum 
in  Weimar  and  engrossed  his  attention  on  more  than  one 
day.  He  himself  held  back  not  a few  when  they  were  on 
the  point  of  departing;  especially  if  they  were  artists,  such 
as  Madame  Szymanowska,  who  was  the  inspiration  of  one 
of  his  most  soulful  poems,  and  Felix  Mendelssohn,  or  if  they 
were  friends  such  as  Zelter,  Boisseree,  Wilhelm  von  Hum- 
boldt, Count  Reinhard,  and  Privy  Councillor  Schultz.  For 
a man  less  robust,  less  receptive,  and  less  productive  than 
he  was  this  life  would  have  been  too  noisy,  too  irregulär, 
and  would  have  taxed  his  strength  in  too  many  ways;  but 
him  it  kept  young.  To  go  through  his  collections  with 
connoisseurs,  to  sit  at  a well-filled  table  and  talk  with  peo- 
ple of  deep  thought  and  feeling  about  art,  Science,  and  life, 

* Outside  the  house  why  do  they  stand 
Are  there.pray,  no  doors  at  hand? 

If  they  bravely  came  within 
They  would  hearty  welcome  win. 


jfrom  1824  to  1830 


167 


to  listen  to  a private  concert  in  a select  circle  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen, — these  to  him  were  sources  of  rarest  enjoyment 
and  refreshment. 

Beside  this  he  had  his  quiet,  idyllic  pleasures.  Not  in 
solitude,  absorbed  in  his  collections  or  in  some  book  that 
he  was  reading — that  always  afforded  some  excitement  for 
his  mind,  which  immediately  wandered  far  afield — but  in 
his  intercourse  with  his  grandsons,  Walther24  and  Wolf- 
gang,23 bom  in  1818  and  1820  respectively.  His  special 
favourite  was  the  younger  of  the  two,  his  namesake,  to 
whom  he  gave  the  same  nickname,  Wölfehen,  that  he  him- 
self  had  once  been  accustomed  to  hear  from  his  father.  At 
the  age  of  eight  and  thereafter  Wölfehen  was  a chief  per- 
sonage  in  his  diary.  “ In  the  evening  Wölfehen.  Very 
engaging  and  fawning  in  Order  to  accomplish  his  purposes.” 
“Later  Wölfehen,  who  sat  down  by  me  and  read.  I went 
over  the  pictures  of  his  child ’s  book  with  him.”  “In  the 
evening  Wölfehen,  who  cleared  several  drawers  neatly  and 
was  entirely  well-behaved  in  all  his  play.”  The  words 
“entirely  well-behaved”  lead  us  to  surmise  that  he  was 
capable  of  being  something  eise.  Indeed  we  even  have  a 
suspicion  that  the  elder  Wolfgang  was  not  free  from  blame 
in  the  matter,  and  when  we  have  read  the  following  scene 
described  by  Soret  we  may  perhaps  complain,  with  the 
doctor  in  Werther,  that  he  spoiled  the  children : 

“At  Goethe’s  house  for  a few  moments  in  the  evening. 
I found  in  his  Company  his  grandson  Wolf  and  his  intimate 
friend  the  Countess  Karoline  Egloffstein.  Wolf  gave  his 
dear  grandfather  a great  deal  to  do,  climbing  about  over 
him  and  sitting  now  on  the  one  shoulder  and  now  on  the 
other.  Goethe  endured  it  all  with  the  greatest  tenderness, 
uncomfortable  as  the  weight  of  the  ten-year-old  boy  must 
have  been  for  one  of  his  age.  ‘ O dear  Wolf,’  said  the  Coun- 
tess, ‘ don’t  worry  your  good  grandfather  so  terribly!  Why ! 
you  are  so  heavy  he  must  be  quite  weary.’  ‘That 
makes  no  difference,’  replied  Wolf,  ‘we  are  going  to  bed 
soon  and  then  grandfather  will  have  time  to  become 
completely  rested  from  this  exertion.’  ‘You  see,’  said 


i68  £be  Xife  of  6oetbc 

Goethe,  ‘that  love  is  always  of  a somewhat  impertinent 
nature.  ’ ” 

The  children’s  mother,  Ottilie, 26  understood  how  to  give 
the  house  an  attractive,  homelike,  and  comfortable  ap- 
pearance  and  to  add  to  this  an  element  of  splendour.  Her 
graciousness  and  amiableness,  her  cheerfulness  and  her 
sprightliness,  gave  the  whole  just  such  an  air  as  Goethe 
desired.  And  when,  in  addition,  “the  dear  daughter” 
would  fondle  him  and  kiss  him  it  made  him  all  the  more 
happy.  The  moments  of  ill-humour,  produced  by  the  lack 
of  mutual  understanding  between  her  and  her  husband, 
were  less  and  less  frequently  observed  by  Goethe.  They 
were  more  and  more  crowded  out  of  the  field  of  vision  by 
the  growing  grandsons,  who  now  hardly  ever  left  his 
presence. 

We  have  here  spoken  of  Goethe  as  an  old  man  and  a 
grandfather.  And  yet,  though  his  cheeks  were  gradually 
fading  and  his  hair  growing  grey,  he  remained  ever  young. 
This  youthfulness  was  time  and  again  a source  of  aston- 
ishment  to  strangers,  and,  what  signifies  more,  even  to  those 
intimately  associated  with  him.  “ His  whole  expression 
was  cheerfulness,  vigour,  youth,”  wrote  Eckermann  in  1823. 
“ He  stood  there  like  Apollo,  with  never-fading  inward 
youth,”  said  the  same  man  in  May,  1825.  Schuchardt  says: 
“ He  spoke  with  strong  voice,  with  dramatic  expression, 
and  while  he  was  dictating  Die  Wanderjahre  to  me  I was 
often  startled  when  he  gave  a drastic  or  pathetic  impersona- 
tion  of  the  characters.”  But  more  clearly  than  in  these 
general  descriptions,  which  lay  peculiar  stress  on  outward 
things,  his  youthfulness  is  revealed  in  his  conversations 
which  have  been  preserved  and  handed  down.  How  mer- 
rily  he  joked,  and  how  he  could  mingle  seriousness  with 
playful  humour!  How  he  could  disguise  himself,  and  tease, 
or  put  on  a tragic  air,  like  Mephistopheles!  How  he  could 
rant  and  rave,  and  that  too,  if  in  the  presence  of  intimate 
friends,  in  a style  as  vigorous  as  though  he  were  still  the 
Leipsic  Student  or  the  wild  original  genius  of  the  Storm 
and  Stress  period.  Let  us  listen  to  him  for  a few  moments. 


front  1824  to  1830  169 

In  doing  so  we  shall  recognise  something  more  than  his 
youthfulness. 

“Now  Sömmering  has  died,”  he  remarked  to  Soret  in 
March,  1830,  “ scarcely  a miserable  seventy-five  years  of  age. 
What  beggars  men  are,  that  they  have  not  the  courage  to 
hold  out  longer  than  that!  I think  better  of  my  friend 
Bentham,  this  most  radical  fool.  He  is  still  well  preserved, 
and  yet  he  is  a few  weeks  older  even  than  I am.”  Soret 
sought  to  defend  Bentham  against  the  reproach  of  radicalism, 
declaring  that  in  England  Goethe  also  would  have  been 
somewhat  of  a radical  and  would  have  inveighed  against 
the  abuses  of  the  administrative  government.  “ What 
do  you  take  me  for?”  replied  Goethe.  “Do  you  mean 
to  imply  that  I should  have  spied  about  for  abuses,  and, 
what  is  more,  should  have  discovered  them  and  called  them 
by  their  right  names,  I,  who  should  have  lived  on  abuses  in 
England?  Born  in  England,  I should  have  been  a rieh 
duke,  or,  rather,  a bishop  with  a yearly  income  of  thirty 
thousand  pounds  sterling.”  Soret  ventured  the  opinion 
that  it  might,  however,  have  been  different  if  he  had  drawn 
a blank  in  the  lottery  of  life.  “ Do  you  think  that  I should 
have  committed  the  folly  of  hitting  upon  a blank?  . . . 

I should  have  lied  and  played  the  hypocrite  so  much  and  so 
long,  in  verse  and  in  prose,  that  my  thirty  thousand  a year 
should  not  have  escaped  me.” 

On  one  occasion  Chancellor  von  Müller  quoted  an  ut- 
terance  of  a certain  author  to  the  effect  that  “ humour  is 
nothing  eise  than  wit  of  the  heart.”  Goethe  flew  into  a 
most  violent  passion  over  the  expression  “nothing  eise,” 
and  exclaimed : “ Cicero  once  said  that  friendship  is  nothing 
eise  than  etc.  Oh ! thou  ass,  thou  silly  fellow,  thou  abomi- 
nable  whippersnapper,  to  go  to  Greece  to  get  wisdom  and 
then  to  produce  nothing  more  clever  than  that  nonsensical 
phrase ! ’ ’ 

On  another  occasion  (in  June,  1830)  Müller  talked  with 
him  about  biblical  criticism  and  faith.  “Mankind,”  re- 
marked Goethe,  “ is  still  involved  in  a religious  crisis.  Since 
men  have  learned  to  see  how  much  stupid  stuff  has  been 


170 


ZTfce  Xlfe  of  (3oetbe 


foisted  upon  them,  and  since  they  have  begun  to  believe 
that  the  apostles  and  saints  were  no  better  men  than  such 
fellows  as  Klopstock,  Lessing,  and  we  other  poor  rascals,  it 
is  only  natural  that  there  should  be  some  stränge  clashes 
in  men’s  heads.” 

Gentle,  peaceable  Boisseree  visited  Goethe  in  1826. 
Their  conversation  turned  to  the  then  prevailing  symbolism 
in  art.  “I  am  a believer  in  plastic  art,”  snapped  Goethe; 
“ I have  sought  to  make  the  world  and  nature  clear  to  my 
mind,  and  now  come  these  fellows,  cast  a mist  before  my 
eyes,  show  me  things  now  at  a distance,  now  oppressively 
near,  like  ombres  chinoises.  The  devil  take  ’em!” 

On  the  following  day  Boisseree  wras  again  at  the  home 
of  his  revered  patron.  “The  reviling  began  again,”  he 
noted  in  his  diary.  Paris,  German  and  French  partisanship, 
whims  of  princes,  decadence  of  taste,  follies  of  all  kinds, 
priestcraft  in  France  and  rationalistic  zealotism  in  Germanyt 
Philhellenism  as  a cloak  to  hide  other  partisanship,  and 
such  things,  were  severely  satirised  by  Goethe.  “With  all 
these  mocking  words,”  continues  Boisseree,  “it  seemed  to 
me  in  the  end  as  though  I were  on  the  Brocken!  I said  so 
to  the  old  man  and  he  replied:  ‘ Why!  we  are  not  yet  ready 
to  descend.  So  long  as  we  have  not  thoroughly  discussed 
the  whole  world  we  must  continue  with  this  clean  conversa- 
tion about  society.’  ” 

He  gave  a conversation  with  Chancellor  von  Müller  a 
somewhat  similar  bright  tum : “ Whoever  desires  to  associate 
with  me  must  occasionally  put  up  with  my  churlish  whims.” 
As  Meyer  was  present  during  the  conversation  and  kept 
silent,  Goethe  added  roguishly:  “Old  Meyer  is  wise,  very 
wise;  but  he  does  n’t  speak  out,  does  n’t  contradict  me,  and 
that  is  vexatious.  I am  certain  that  down  in  his  heart  he 
is  ten  times  more  inclined  to  scold  than  I am,  and  that  he 
considers  me  a weak  light  besides.” 

Humour  did  not  always  smooth  the  excited  waves- 
He  was  not  in  a mood  for  humour  when  his  moral  feelings 
were  wounded,  not  even  when  the  man  with  whom  he  was 
talking  was  the  offending  person.  For  example,  on  one 


jfrom  1824  to  1830 


171 

occasion  Müller  showed  him  with  a certain  degree  of  pleasure 
a mischievous  epigram  on  a member  of  Weimar  society.  He 
burst  into  a passion  and  exclaimed:  “ By  such  hostile  and 
indiscreet  rhymery  one  only  makes  enemies  and  imbitters 
one’s  own  mood  and  existence.  Why!  I would  sooner  hang 
myself  than  be  everlastingly  denying,  everlastingly  on  the 
side  of  the  Opposition,  everlastingly  lying  in  wait  for  a chance 
to  cast  a venomed  dart  at  the  faults  and  failings  of  my 
neighbours  and  fellow-creatures.  You  are  still  mighty 
young  and  frivolous,  if  you  can  justify  such  a thing.”  If 
in  such  cases  humour  could  not  overcome  the  discord  of  the 
moment,  love  could,  love  for  man  and  for  the  particular 
child  of  man  who  stood  before  him.  And  so,  even  in  the 
course  of  this  conversation,  he  became  more  and  more 
friendly,  and  in  the  closing  sentence  of  his  account  of  the 
evening  Müller  says  he  was  very  glad  that  his  communica- 
tion  had  provoked  the  explosion. 

Such  stormy,  hot-blooded,  moody,  satirical,  angry  effu- 
sions  were  just  as  much  a necessity  of  his  full  heart  as  they 
had  been  in  his  youth.  The  Chancellor  once  wrote  down 
the  observation  (March,  1823):  “Like  a storm  cloud,  he 
sought  to  unburden  himself  of  his  over-abundance  of 
energy  by  means  of  spiritual  lightning  and  thunder.”  In 
comparison  with  what  it  had  been  in  his  youth,  the  over- 
abundance  seemed  to  have  increased,27  as  much  because 
of  his  broader  knowledge  and  insight  as  because  of  his 
greater  receptivity  and  activity.  In  1828,  when  he  was  in 
his  seventy-ninth  year,  he  characterised  his  activity  as 
boundless,  indeed,  almost  ridiculous. 

If  we  seek  to  get  some  conception  of  this  activity  we 
shall  fittingly  begin  with  the  fact  that  he  was  first  and  last 
a poet.  To  be  sure,  the  poetic  stream  no  longer  flowed  so 
freelv  and  abundantly  as  in  his  younger  years,  but  the 
amount  of  literary  work  undertaken  was  as  great  as  ever 
and  it  required  more  energetic  application,  inasmuch  as 
hand  in  hand  with  the  decrease  of  his  facility  of  creation 
had  gone  an  increase  of  the  difficulty  of  the  subjects,  es- 
pecially  Die  Wanderjahre  and  the  Second  Part  of  Faust. 


172 


£be  Xife  of  ©oetbe 


After  tirelessly  recasting  and  filing,  he  finally  succeeded  in 
1828,  in  his  Novelle,  in  finding  a finished  form  for  an  old  epic 
plan  to  which  he  had  given  the  provisional  title  Die  Jagd. 
Now  with  epic  breadth,  now  with  courtly  elegance,  here 
with  touching  tendemess,  there  with  most  solemn  dignity, 
he  develops  with  deep  penetration  the  rieh  symbolic  content 
of  this  court  and  animal  story,  so  that  we  can  foresee  the 
victory  of  pious,  courageous  love  over  wild  force,  and 
believe  in  it,  not  as  a stränge  miracle,  but  as  the  manifesta- 
tion  of  an  eternal  law. 

In  addition  to  these  works  of  pure  fiction,  he  was  con- 
stantly  occupied  by  his  biographical  writings.  True,  he  no 
longer  allowed  himself  the  time  for  the  artistic  elaboration 
which  he  had  given  the  first  volumes  of  his  autobiography. 
It  is  the  original  freshness  of  the  letters  and  the  unfailing 
clearness  of  the  diaries  out  of  which  he  composed  his  Italie- 
nische Reise  (at  which  he  had  been  working  since  1816)  and 
his  descriptions  of  the  wars  of  the  revolution,  not  his  recon- 
structive  power  of  presentation,  that  gives  these  works 
their  permanent  value.  Even  the  fourth  part  of  Dichtung 
lind  Wahrheit  hardly  attempts  to  combine  the  biographical 
details  into  a unified  picture.  The  loosely  compiled  Annalen, 
which  he  brought  down  to  1822,  and  his  Briefwechsel 
zwischen  Schiller  und  Goethe,  are,  and  pretend  to  be,  nothing 
but  collections  of  material.  It  was  a question  of  recording 
quickly,  in  the  time  still  left  at  his  disposal,  as  much  as 
possible  of  his  remarkable  life. 

In  addition  to  all  this  he  assumed  in  1826  the  bürden  of 
a new  complete  edition  of  his  works.  Then,  too,  the  serial 
publieation  Kunst  und  Altertum,  which  he  continued  to  edit 
in  collaboration  with  Meyer,  gave  him  so  much  more  to  do 
as  in  it  he  now  devoted  his  critical  attention  to  the  world’s 
literature.  These  undertakings  alone  would  have  exhausted 
the  strength  of  even  younger  people.  For  him  a few  mom- 
ing  hours  sufficed  to  accomplish  this  part  of  his  dailv  task. 
Then  came  official  business  to  claim  his  attention. 

He  was  now  relieved  of  most  of  the  administrative 
branches  which  had  earlier  weighed  upon  him,  but  the  direc- 


Jfrom  1824  to  1830 


173 


tion  of  the  educational  institutions,  which  he  retained,  had 
assumed  incomparably  greater  dimensions.  To  still  other 
things  he  devoted  himself  voluntarily,  simply  because  he 
had  once  for  all  acquired  an  interest  in  them.  Eversince 
the  days  when  he  had  directed  the  construction  of  highways 
and  had  superintended  the  building  of  the  castle  he  had 
considered  himself  the  Superintendent  of  all  Weimar  con- 
structions,  both  above  the  ground  and  beneath  the  ground, 
and  no  causeway,  no  church  or  school,  indeed,  no  gate- 
keeper’s  lodge,  could  be  built  in  the  grand  duchy  without 
the  plans  first  having  been  laid  before  him. 

After  the  poet  and  state  official  the  scholar  demanded  his 
rights.  Here  his  burdens  had  greatly  increased  with  the 
rapid  advance  of  the  Sciences.  As  this  process  is  going  on 
almost  all  the  time  we  usually  see  scholars,  as  they  grow 
older,  limiting  themselves  more  and  more,  even  in  the 
special  field  which  they  cultivate.  Goethe  never  thought 
of  such  a thing.  On  the  contrary,  he  broadened  in  his  old 
age  the  great  circle  in  which  as  an  independent  investigator 
he  had  promoted  the  development  of  Science  by  the  ad- 
dition  of  a new  field,  that  of  meteorology. 

Furthermore  there  were  the  art  acquisitions,  the  artistic 
productions,  and  the  theories  of  art,  in  the  most  important 
European  countries  which  demanded  consideration.  Even 
in  the  fields  in  which  he  himself  did  no  work  he  kept  himself 
informed  as  to  the  progress  of  Science,  in  order  to  satisfy  his 
requirements  as  a far-seeing  scholar  no  less  than  those  as 
an  educated  man.  Philosophy,  theology,  history,  geography, 
and  political  economy  came  constantly  within  his  ränge  of 
study.  In  the  same  way  as  the  Sciences,  polite  literature 
had  broadened  its  scope  to  an  unusual  degree.  There  was 
an  unheard-of  productivity  in  all  civilised  countries,  and 
there  existed  such  an  intimate  relation  between  the  various 
literatures  that  it  was  indeed  possible  to  speak  of  a world 
literature.  To  keep  himself  informed  in  the  chief  phenomena 
of  this  world  literature  was  for  Goethe  as  much  a source  of 
great  delight  as  it  was  a cotnmand  of  duty.  Byron,  Man- 
zoni,  Beranger,  Victor  Hugo,  Carlyle,  and  Walter  Scott,  to 


174 


£be  %\f e of  (Boetbe 


mention  but  a few  of  the  foreign  writers,  received  from  him 
attentive  consideration,  and  though  he  may  have  crossed 
himself  ten  times  before  Victor  Hugo’s  Notre  Dame  de  Paris, 
nevertheless  he  read  his  works  to  the  end.  We  find  a 
further  indication  of  Goethe’s  youthfulness  in  the  fact  that 
he  did  not  assume  an  unsympathetic  attitude  toward  the 
newer  tendencies. 

With  calm  composure,  as  though  he  were  saving  nothing 
of  special  importance,  he  wrote  in  July,  1830,  to  Boisseree: 
“ I am  now  keeping  my  eyes  on  the  main  centres  of  life 
in  the  fields  of  art,  literature,  and  the  Sciences.  Berlin, 
Vienna,  Munich,  and  Milan  occupy  me  especially;  Paris, 
London,  and  Edinburgh,  in  their  way.”  But  art,  litera- 
ture and  Science,  were  not  the  only  things  included  within 
the  ränge  of  his  interests;  it  embraced  also  matters  per- 
taining  directly  to  practical  life.  He  was  most  intensely 
interested  in  the  building  of  canals,  harbours,  and  tunnels, 
which  were  being  more  and  more  urgently  demanded  by  the 
development  of  local  and  foreign  commerce  and  by  the 
growing  desire  of  man  to  shorten  distances.  Of  the  Thames 
tunnel,  the  Erie  canal,  and  the  new  Bremen  harbour,  he 
sought,  by  means  of  most  accurate  drawings,  outlines,  and 
descriptions,  to  obtain  as  clear  conceptions  as  possible  of 
the  structures  themselves  and  of  the  difficulties  encountered 
and  the  means  of  overcoming  them.  Other  great  com- 
mercial  projects,  such  as  the  Panama,  Nicaragua,  Suez,  and 
Rhine-Danube  canals,  aroused  in  him  such  lively,  indeed, 
passionate,  interest  that  he  said  he  would  like  to  live  about 
fifty  years  longer  just  on  their  account. 

In  the  realm  of  politics  he  followed  with  close  attention 
the  Greek  war  of  liberty,  the  partisan  fights  in  France 
and  England,  and  the  movements  in  Germany.  German, 
French,  English,  and  Italian  newspapers  and  periodicals 
came  regularly  to  his  house.  Even  though  out  of  pressure 
of  work,  or  out  of  vexation  at  the  mass  of  worthless  stuff 
in  the  journals  that  covered  up  what  was  worth  knowing, 
and  with  the  consciousness  that  he  would  leam  about  im- 
portant things  through  his  personal  relations,  he  often  gave 


tfrom  1824  to  1830 


i75 


up  the  reading  of  journals  for  weeks,  even  months,  at  a 
time,  nevertheless  he  always  came  back  to  it  again  and  read 
then,  if  possible,  what  he  had  skipped.  He  realised  that, 
if  he  wished  to  understand  foreign  countries,  he  must  study 
them,  even  in  their  seemingly  unimportant  phenomena  of 
life. 

With  his  stupendous  thirst  for  knowledge — “ He  desires 
always  to  be  advancing,  always  to  be  advancing,  always  to 
be  leaming,  always  to  be  learning!”  Eckermann  once  ex- 
claimed,  astonished — and  with  all  the  variety  of  his  interests, 
it  was  an  almost  daily  experience  that  between  moming 
and  evening  he  ran  through  thousands  of  years.  When 
perchance  in  the  moming  he  read  in  the  newspapers  the 
debates  of  the  Chamber  in  Paris,  then  turned  to  Walter 
Scott’s  or  Bourienne’s  descriptions  of  the  life  of  Napoleon, 
then  studied  a drawing  by  Rembrandt,  became  absorbed 
further  in  the  consideration  of  a medal  of  Mohammed  II., 
read  an  essay  by  Villemain  on  the  dramas  of  Hrotswitha 
or  a chapter  from  Niebuhr’s  Römische  Geschichte,  made  a 
critical  examination  of  plaster  casts  of  Greek  statuary,  and 
then  in  addition  investigated  an  elephant’s  tooth  which  had 
been  found  in  the  calcareous  tufa  of  Weimar,  it  may  be 
said  that  thousands,  yes,  myriads  of  years  had  marched  by 
before  his  eyes.  Hence  he  could  say  of  himself  that  he 
lived  in  millenaries,  and  because  of  this  existence  of  seons 
it  seemed  stränge  to  him  when  he  heard  men  talk  of  statues 
and  monurnents,  because,  in  the  spirit,  he  already  saw  them 
destroyed  and  wiped  out. 

As  his  eyes  surveyed  the  restless  surgings  and  the  violent 
upheavals  of  history  it  was  within  his  power  to  recognise 
the  broad  general  relation  of  things  and  the  small  significance 
of  the  day,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  most  important  con- 
temporaneous  events  he  was  able  to  preserve  his  composure, 
or,  in  case  it  was  shaken  for  a moment,  to  regain  it  quickly. 
Events  which  left  long-lingering  impressions  on  other  people 
were  to  him,  in  the  end,  but  “ phantasmagorial  clouds” 
hastening  by,  and  in  every  case,  even  though  they  had  a 
rather  substantial  nucleus,  were  but  natural  phenomena 


176 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


which  often  occur  in  history  and  which  in  their  origin  and 
development  need  cause  the  man  of  understanding  no  ex- 
citement or  fear.  He  also  studied  himself  and  his  work  from 
this  broad  point  of  view,  and  succeeded  in  forming  “the 
conception  ” of  himself  as  a link  in  the  chain  of  historical 
developments.  Thus  he  became  to  himself  an  historical 
phenomenon,  as  he  frankly  confessed  to  Wilhelm  von  Hum- 
boldt. This  attitude  of  mind  became  a source  of  deep  paci- 
fication,  of  which,  with  his  continual  overwhelming  youthful 
responsiveness  and  sensitiveness,  he  was  in  greater  need 
than  any  other  man  in  the  world . 

Through  this  comprehension  of  himself  in  his  great 
world-relations  he  gained  something  more  than  repose. 
He  saw  that  his  way  of  influencing  the  world  must  be  based 
on  goodness  and  purity.  The  ruler,  the  statesman,  the 
general,  the  party  leader,  who  under  definite,  temporary  con- 
ditions  exert  an  influence  in  the  Service  of  definite,  practical 
purposes,  may  achieve  great  things,  even  out  of  impure 
motives.  He,  the  poet,  who  wished  to  develop  the  minds 
of  men  to  a higher  grasp  of  life,  independent  of  time  and 
place,  dared  labour  only  with  a good  and  pure  soul.  “ One 
must  be  something  in  order  to  do  something,”  he  once  said 
of  the  poet,  taking  “do”  in  the  highest  sense.  Hence  we 
see  him  more  consciously,  more  steadfastly,  more  surely  than 
in  early  life,  making  of  himself  a good  and  pure  man.  This 
rising  to  the  ideal  was  so  obvious  that  when  Bettina  saw  him 
in  1824,  the  first  time  in  thirteen  years,  she  declared  that 
his  genius  had  resolved  itself  partly  into  goodness.  Through 
this  goodness  and  purity  he  possessed  now  far  more  than 
ever  before  the  power  of  lifting  men  up  and  ennobling  them 
both  morally  and  spiritually.  He  redeems  the  highest  and 
the  best  that  is  in  them  and  frees  them  from  the  dark  and 
the  low.  He  consecrates  them,  as  Iphigenia  consecrated 
Orestes.  A touching  example  is  afforded  by  a letter  from 
Privy  Councillor  Schultz,  written  in  1824,  in  which  he  said 
of  the  sculptor  Rauch,  who  had  just  retumed  from  Weimar: 
“ Rauch  came  to  see  me  one  evening.  He  was  in  a certain 
exalted  state  of  feeling  which  I have  noticed  in  others  who 


1 77 


tftrom  1824  to  1830 

came  away  from  your  presence,  o£  which,  indeed,  I myself 
have  been  personally  conscious.  It  is  a kind  of  transfigura- 
tion  or,  rather,  sanctification.”  Young  Grillparzer,  who 
approached  him  as  a stranger,  said  of  their  meeting:  “At 
first  he  seemed  to  me  like  a Jupiter,  then  like  a father.” 

To  Goethe  the  transfigured  state  of  being  to  which  he 
had  attained  was  the  highest  happiness  of  his  old  age. 
When  he  now  looked  back  the  sun  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  himself  seemed  earlier  to  have  stood  at  a low 
altitude.  It  had  been  winter  then,  or  merely  the  promise 
of  spring.  If  in  those  past  years  he  had  accomplished  any 
permanent  good  or  had  manifested  pure  sentiments,  it  was 
because  of  his  happy  instinct  through  which  shone  his  in- 
bom  reason,  or  it  was  done  under  the  benign  influence  of 
others  who  loved  him  or  were  loved  by  him.  When  in- 
stinct had  slumbered  and  good  influence  had  been  lacking 
he  had  stumbled.  But  now,  when  the  sun  stood  at  a high 
altitude,  his  reason  was  freed  from  its  crust  of  ice,*  and  it 
was  able  to  work  out  the  divine,  the  essential,  in  his  nature, 
his  truly  genuine  and  etemal  personality,  and  to  attain  the 
goal  of  his  longing,  by  “ making  his  microcosm  revolve  about 
a pure  centre  and  bringing  him  into  a worthy  relation 
toward  the  Infinite.”  Hence  he  now  ventured  for  the  first 
time  to  speak  with  touching  accent  of  the  “ springtime  of 
his  soul.”  The  beauty  and  splendour  of  this  springtime 
could  no  longer  be  disturbed  by  anything.  Not  even  by  the 
sorest  temptation,  by  the  clouds  of  incense  which  arose 
to  him  from  the  fires  of  innumerable  sacrifices.  Though 
his  fame  was  sung  from  the  Mississippi28  to  the  Volga,  in  a 
glorious  symphony  whose  mighty  accords  made  the  croaking 
of  uncomprehending  or  malcontent  individuals  indistin- 
guishable,  though  he  was  lauded  a hundred  times,  in  word 
and  writing,  as  a god  whose  existence  made  the  world 
happy,  he  remained  the  same  simple  man.  Not  as  though 
he  were  not  conscious  of  his  worth  and  looked  upon  all  the 

* “I  presume  I was  late  in  becoming  reasonable,  but  I have  become  so 
at  last,”  he  remarked  to  Chancellor  von  Müller,  half  in  jest,  half  in  eamest, 
injune,  1830. 

VOL.III 12 


17» 


ftbe  %\tc  of  Goetbe 


pseans  chanted  in  his  honour  as  idle  sound ; but  in  the  know- 
ledge  that  he  owed  what  was  praised  in  him  to  a favour  of 
fate,  which  had  formed  his  nature  as  it  was  and  not  other- 
wise,  even  to  his  ardent  striving  after  the  ideal.  And  as  he 
said,  in  1830,  that  he  was  perhaps  the  only  Christian  then 
living,  in  the  sense  in  which  Christ  would  use  the  word,  he 
could  also  call  himself,  with  humility  and  pride,  “ the  hum- 
blest”  of  all. 

It  is  in  this  high  human  quality,  not  in  his  works,  that 
we  must  seek  an  explanation  of  the  conquering,  beatific 
power  which  he  exerted  over  his  contemporaries.  If,  after 
all  that  has  been  said,  there  should  still  be  need  of  testimonv, 
let  us  listen  to  the  wTords  of  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt,  who 
was  himself  one  of  the  best  and  most  enlightened  men  of 
the  time.  Nine  days  after  Goethe’s  death  he  said  that 
Goethe  had  exercised  the  mighty  influence  for  which  he 
was  distinguished  by  his  mere  existence,  unconsciously  as  it 
were,  and  without  any  inten tion.  “ This  is  entirely  distinct 
from  his  spiritual  Creations  as  a thinker  and  a poet;  it  lies 
in  his  great  and  unique  personality.” 

If  we  now  take  up  again  the  chronicle  of  Goethe’s  life 
there  is  not  much  more  to  be  recorded  in  the  way  of  outward 
events.  As  is  usually  the  case  with  old  people,  he  did  noth- 
ing but  celebrate  jubilees  and  bear  other  people  to  the 
grave.  Both  these  things  were  to  him  sources  of  deep 
agitation  and  we  can  understand  why,  at  the  age  of  eighty, 
he  should  have  prayed  to  the  gods  for  endurable  sorrow 
and  moderate  enjoyment  (letter  to  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt, 
March  1,  1829). 

First  came  the  jubilees.  On  the  3d  of  September,  1825, 
fifty  years  had  passed  since  Karl  August  had  come  to  the 
throne,  and  on  the  7th  of  November  fifty  years  since  Goethe 
had  come  to  Weimar.  By  these  important  periods  both 
fully  realised  how  infinitely  much  that  was  good,  great,  and 
beautiful  had  grown  out  of  their  life  and  work  together. 
By  the  side  of  this  all  temporary  clashes,  ill  feelings,  and 
misunderstandings  sank  into  the  sea  of  forgetfulness.  They 
had  been  fugitive  shadowrs  which  clouds  in  sailing  by  had 


jfrom  1824  to  1830 


179 


cast  over  the  sunlit  earth.  At  the  jubilee  of  Karl  August’s 
reign  Goethe  called  himself  the  most  favoured  servant  of 
his  ruler.  And  as  he  was  the  one  most  blessed  he  wished 
also  to  be  the  first  to  congratulate  his  Sovereign.  At  six 
o’ clock  on  the  moming  of  the  jubilee  he  went  to  call  on  the 
Grand  Duke  in  the  Roman  House,  which  was  situated  in 
the  solitude  of  the  Park.  As  Goethe  entered,  Karl  August 
stretched  out  both  hands  toward  the  beloved  friend  of  his 
youth,  his  teacher,  confidant,  minister,  and  poet.  Goethe 
grasped  his  hands  and,  overcome  with  emotion,  could  utter 
but  the  words:  “Together  tili  the  last  breath.”  The 
thoughts  of  both  flew  back  to  the  days  when  they  had  en- 
tered into  the  bond  with  youthful,  overflowing  enj oyment 
of  life.  The  few  who  witnessed  the  scene  heard  the  Grand 
Duke  exclaim : “ 0 for  eighteen  years  and  Ilmenau!”  Af- 
ter many  remembrances  of  those  days,  he  added  with  great 
animation:  “But  let  us  also  remember  with  gratitude  that 
even  to-day  we  still  enjoy  the  fulfilment  of  what  was  once 
sung  to  us  in  Tiefurt : 

9tur  £uft  unb  ßidjt 
Unb  greunbeelieb’ — 

(Srmübe  rticfit, 

Süßem  bieg  noch  blieb.* 

He  embraced  Goethe  and  they  continued  the  conversation 
in  a low  voice  which  the  others  present  could  not  hear. 

Now  came  the  7th  of  November.  According  to  Karl 
August’s  will  it  was  to  be  celebrated  not  alone  as  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  Goethe’ s arrival  in  Weimar,  but  also  as  that 
of  his  entrance  into  the  Service  of  the  state — a most  glorious 
honour  to  confer  upon  his  Frankfort  guest  after  the  lapse  of 
half  a Century.  “For,”  remarked  the  Grand  Duke  in  an 
Order  issued  to  Chancellor  von  Müller,  “it  was  with  the  first 
moment  of  his  sojoum  here,  and  not  later,  with  the  taking 
of  the  corporal  oath  [at  his  entrance  into  office  on  the  nth 

* Pure  light  and  air 

And  love  of  friend — 

Against  all  wear 

These  boons  defend. 


i8o 


Zhe  %\fc  of  6oetbe 


of  June,  1776],  that  Goethe  began  to  work  and  labour  for 
the  welfare  and  fame  of  Weimar.”  After  repeating  this 
testimony  in  his  letter  of  congratulation  to  Goethe  he  con- 
tinued : “ Accordingly  it  is  with  the  keenest  pleasure  that  I 
recognise  the  fiftieth  retum  of  this  day  as  the  jubilee  of  my 
first  servant  of  the  state,  the  friend  of  my  youth,  who  has 
hitherto  accompanied  me  through  all  the  changing  fortunes 
of  my  life  with  unwavering  fidelity,  affection,  and  stead- 
fastness ; to  whose  prudent  counsel,  lively  interest,  and  ever- 
pleasing  Services  I owe  the  success  of  most  important 
undertakings ; and  the  winning  of  whom  for  ever  I consider 
as  one  of  the  highest  embellishments  of  my  reign.”  In  Order 
to  make  known  to  the  whole  population  the  recognition 
which  he  had  expressed  in  his  letter  of  congratulation  he 
had  it  posted  in  public.  When  Goethe  found  it  out  he  ex- 
claimed,  with  tears  in  his  eyes : “ That  is  just  like  him!  ” In 
addition  Karl  August  sent  him  a medal  which  was  to  stand 
for  all  time  as  a memento  of  the  jubilee.  F inally  he  arranged 
for  the  publication  of  an  edition  de  luxe  of  Iphigenie,  which 
he  doubtless  considered  the  poet’s  most  finished  creation 
and,  at  the  same  time,  the  noblest  impress  of  his  spirit. 
He  also  had  the  play  presented  in  the  evening.*  It  was 
preceded  by  a prologue,  during  which  a bust  of  Goethe  was 
crowned  on  the  stage. 

9htn  roirb,  3f)tn  felbft  auf§  berrlicbfte  311  lofjnen, 

®ie  eble  ©tirnmit  cro’gcm  ©cbmiuf  belaubt.  | 

The  deep  inward  feeling  of  gratitude  and  the  admiration 
and  reverence  of  the  grand  ducal  pair  may  have  been  less 
apparent  in  the  facts  just  related  than  in  their  countenances 
and  words,  especially  during  the  long  visit  which  they  paid 
the  celebrated  man.  Chancellor  von  Müller  said  to  Fritz 
Schlosser:  “The  graciousness  of  the  Grand  Duke  and  his 
exalted  wife  was  overwhelming.”  The  citizens  of  Weimar 

* Goethe  was  present  at  the  performance  up  to  the  third  act  ( Goethes 
goldner  Jubeltag,  p.  40). 

f And  now  is  placed  a laurel  wreath  unfading 
Upon  his  brow,  reward  most  glorious. 


tfrom  1824  to  1830 


1 8 1 


and  the  University  of  Jena  also  celebrated  the  day  in  a 
way  befitting  Goethe’s  great  Services  to  the  world. 

The  entry  which  the  poet  himself  made  in  his  diary  con- 
sisted  of  these  few  very  suggestive  words,  “Most  solemn 
day.” 

It  was  the  evening  glow,  casting  a most  gorgeous  purple 
light  upon  the  bond  between  Karl  August  and  Goethe.  The 
night  was  approaching, — for  the  younger  of  the  two  more 
quickly  than  for  the  older. 

About  two  and  a half  years  had  passed  since  Goethe’s 
golden  jubilee,  when,  on  the  i4th  of  June,  1828,  death 
came  softly,  but  suddenly,  to  summon  hence  his  princely 
friend  and  ruler.  The  end  was  in  keeping  with  his  life. 
The  brave,  determined  man  died  standing  at  an  open 
window.  It  was  a hard  blow  for  Goethe.  He  said  to  Ecker- 
mann:  “On  the  whole  there  was  nobody  who  understood 
him  through  and  through,  as  I did.”  “He  was  one  of  the 
greatest  rulers  that  Germany  ever  possessed.”  “Only  a 
paltry  Century  later,  and  how  he,  in  such  a high  position, 
would  have  advanced  his  age!”  “There  was  much  of  the 
divine  in  him.  He  was  animated  by  most  noble  graciousness 
and  purest  love  of  man.  He  would  gladly  have  made  all 
mankind  happy.”  With  thoughts  such  as  these  Goethe 
wrote  to  Sulpiz  Boisseree:  “The  surviving  members  who 
truly  belong  to  the  family  of  the  noble  Prince  now  recog- 
nise  no  other  duty  and  cherish  no  other  hope  than  to  con- 
tinue  to  live  in  accordance  with  his  glorious  purposes  in 
their  broad,  general  application.” 

It  was  hard  indeed  for  Goethe  to  overcome  his  grief.  It 
made  no  small  gap  in  his  life  to  feel  no  longer  the  presence 
of  this  distinguished,  energetic,  benign  ruler  by  his  side, 
and  to  look  about  in  vain  for  the  friendly  patron  of  his 
literary  works,  his  scientific  investigations,  and  his  other 
favourite  pursuits,  and  a fellow  guardian  of  a thousand 
precious  memories.  In  his  great  sorrow  during  the  first 
days  he  did  not  feel  capable  of  going  to  the  Grand  Duchess 
Luise  with  a message  of  condolence,  nor  even  of  sending  her 
a letter.  Not  until  a week  had  passed  did  he  succeed  in 


182 


Zbc  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


writing  her  a few  lines.  To  Soret,  who  was  among  those 
near  the  Grand  Duchess,  he  wrote : “ Even  this  little  has 
cost  me  much;  for  I shrink  from  touching  with  words  that 
which  is  unbearable  to  the  feelings.” 

The  saddest  act,  the  funeral  of  Karl  August,  was  still 
before  him.  It  was  to  occur  on  the  9th  of  July.  “ In  order 
in  the  most  painful  state  of  his  inner  being  to  spare  at  least 
his  outward  senses,”  he  begged  permission  to  retire  to  the 
Castle  of  Domburg,  which  was  very  willingly  granted  him. 
So  he  left  his  Weimar  hermitage,  from  which  he  had  not 
departed  for  several  years,  and  went  to  the  Domburg  for 
a long  stay.  The  castle,  surrounded  by  flowers  and  vine- 
yards  and  situated  upon  a height  affording  a broad,  serene 
outlook  upon  the  Saale  valley  and  the  mountains,  pleased 
him  so  much  that  he  prolonged  his  sojoum  to  more  than 
two  months.  This  place,  which  charms  every  visitor,  ap- 
peared  to  him,  after  his  sorrowful  impressions  in  Weimar, 
“in  intensified  colours,  like  the  rainbow  on  a dark  grey 
background.” 

He  often  awoke  before  daybreak  and  lay  in  the  open 
window,  feasting  his  eyes  on  the  glory  of  the  three  planets 
just  then  in  conjunction  and  refreshing  his  soul  in  the  grow- 
ing  splendour  of  the  dawn.  When  the  world  in  this  solemn 
beauty  lay  before  him  so  still  and  pure,  he  realised  viv- 
idly  the  significance  of  the  Homeric  words,  “holy  morn.” 
Spending  then  almost  the  whole  day  in  the  open  air  he 
directed  his  attention  chiefly  to  plants  and  the  atmosphere; 
for  here  botany  and  meteorology  were  his  favourite  occu- 
pations.  Out  of  interest  in  a new  theory  of  viticulture  he 
“ conversed  familiarly  with  the  branches  and  tendrils  of 
the  grape-vines,  which  gave  him  good  ideas.”  In  this  re- 
juvenating  intercourse  with  nature,  in  his  cheerful  moun- 
tain  lookout,  and  in  the  wann  summer  air,  his  lyric  fountain 
began  again  to  flow.  The  man  of  seventy-nine  wrote  songs, 
even  a love  song,  and  one  of  which  he  might  have  been 
proud  in  the  days  of  his  youth.  The  soft  light  of  the  moon 
united  him  with  the  last  loved  one  whom  he  still  tenderlv 
cherished,  Marianne  von  Willemer.  They  had  agreed  to 


jfrom  1824  to  1830 


183 

think  of  each  other  at  every  full  moon.  On  the  evening  of 
the  25th  of  August,  when  he  saw  the  moon  rise  in  wonderful 
splendour  out  of  dark  clouds  into  the  blue  nocturnal  sky  he 
greeted  it  joyfully  as  a strong  assurance  that  Marianne  re- 
turned  his  love: 

Beugel  mir,  bap  idj  geliebt  bin, 

©ei  baö  Siebten  nueg  fo  fern. 

©0  l)inan  benn,  f)cU  ltnb  geller, 
deiner  fBabn,  in  Holler  fpradjt ! 

©cfjfägt  mein  §erj  nitef)  fdjmerglid)  fd^neQer, 

Überfelig  ift  bie  ÜHadjt.* 

In  the  copy  which  he  sent  to  Marianne  he  was  wise  and 
considerate  enough  to  change  “ schmerzlich  schneller  ” to  the 
unpoetical  but  less  exciting  “ schneller , schneller .” 

On  the  nth  of  September  he  returned  to  Weimar  with 
his  mind  pacified  and  his  strength  renewed.  A happy  sur- 
prise  was  avvaiting  him  there.  In  the  antechamber  to  his 
study  he  found  Standing  the  great  clock  which  had  once 
marked  for  him  the  hours  in  his  father’s  house.  After  the 
death  of  his  mother  it  had  passed  into  the  hands  of  stran- 
gers.  from  whom  the  Grand  Duke  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz 
had  bought  it  for  the  purpose  of  doing  the  poet  a pleasure. 

“To  live  long  means  to  outlive  many,”  Goethe  once  said. 
He  might  have  said,  “To  live  long  means  to  bury  many.” 
In  this  his  experience  was  only  too  rieh  in  the  course  of  his 
long  life.  Even  before  the  death  of  Karl  August,  Charlotte 
von  Stein,  the  ardently  loved  companion  of  an  important 
period  of  his  life,  had  passed  away — on  the  6th  of  January, 
1827.  Of  late  years  the  relation  of  the  two  had  been  as 
serene  and  harmonious  as  possible,  free  from  reminiscences 
of  all  the  bitterness  which  they  had  experienced.29  The 

* That  I am  loved  dost  thou  assure  me, 

Though  my  love  be  far  away. 

Higher  soar  soft-pinioned  greeting, 

Clear  thy  path,  thy  splendour  bright  ! 

Though  my  heart’s  pain  haste  its  beating, 

Overblissful  is  the  night. 


184 


£be  %\fc  of  Goetbe 


death  of  Goethe’s  wife  removed  the  first  and  last  hindrance, 
inward  as  well  as  outward,  that  had  ever  separated  them. 
The  period  of  life  from  1776  to  1786  arose  again  in  its  old 
splendour  before  his  eyes,  and  in  1820  he  paid  to  Frau  von 
Stein  the  highest  and  most  beautiful  homage  in  memory  of 
the  past.  He  praised  her  under  her  former  poetical  name 
“Lida,”  placing  her  sideby  side  with  Shakespeare: 

©iner  (findigen  angeboren, 

©inen  ©innigen  Dereljren, 

2Bie  öercint  eg  unb  Sinn! 
ßiba ! ©Iftcf  ber  nädjften  9läl)e, 

SSBilltam!  ©fern  ber  fcfyönftcn  $öljc, 

@ud)  nerbanf  id),  tnag  icfy  bin. 

Jag’  unb  3al)re  finb  Derfcfirounben, 

Unb  bod)  ruljt  auf  jenen  ©tunben 
Weinet  2Berte§  S^oHacminn.* 

And  to  her  last  letter  of  congratulation  on  his  birthday, 
in  the  year  1826,  he  had  answered,  his  heart  plainly  trembling 
with  emotion:  “To  see  preserved  through  so  many  years 

the  mutual  inclination  and  love  of  those  living  in  the  imme- 
diate  neighbourhood  of  one  another  is  the  highest  blessing 
that  ean  be  bestowed  upon  man.” 

The  news  of  her  death  cannot  have  come  to  Goethe  unex- 
pectedly;  for  she  was  considerably  past  eighty  years  of  age 
and  had  grown  weak  and  decrepit.  When  the  end  really 
came,  it  was  doubtless  a great  shock  to  him.  For  that  very 
reason  he  took  good  care  to  make  no  reference  to  it  to  any- 
body,  either  in  conversation  or  in  writing. 

The  year  1830  brought  the  aged  poet  two  more  heavy 
losses.  The  first  came  through  the  death  of  the  Grand 

* Only  one  loved  idol  owning, 

Only  one  ideal  enthroning, 

How  it  quickens  heart  and  brain! 

Lida,  nearest  joy  and  rarest, 

William,  star  on  high  the  fairest, 

For  my  all  I thank  ye  twain. 

Days  and  years  the  past  have  entered, 

Yet  within  those  hours  is  centred 
All  my  life’s  substantial  gain. 


3from  1824  to  1830 


185 


Duchess  Luise.  Düring  the  second  half  of  her  life  in 
Weimar  he  had  stood  nearer  to  her  than  in  the  first  half. 
He  admired  her  noble  attitude  of  resignation,  which  made 
petty  vexations  and  oppositions,  such  as  had  been  fre- 
quent in  the  beginning,  no  longer  possible;  he  admired  the 
courage  and  tact  which  she  had  shown  during  the  terrible 
days  of  October,  1806;  he  reverenced  her  as  his  protectress, 
who  sought  by  means  of  compromise  to  ad  just  the  dissen- 
sions  and  differences  between  him  and  Karl  August,  as  well 
as  the  other  powers  of  the  grand  duchv — for  example,  the 
diet;  he  loved  her  for  her  lofty  human  sentiments,  evidence 
of  which  she  had  given  in  her  attitude  toward  his  marriage ; 
and,  finally,  he  loved  her  as  his  faithful,  devoted  spiritual 
pupil.  And  now  this  eminent  woman  was  called  away  from 
this  life,  leaving  another  place  vacant  in  his  more  intimate 
circle.  Those  about  him  were  apprehensive  as  to  how  he 
would  receive  the  news  of  her  death,  which  occurred  on  the 
i4th  of  February.  Eckermann  gives  the  following  account : 
“ I said  to  myself : for  more  than  fifty  years  he  has  been  asso- 
ciated  with  this  princess;  he  has  enjoyed  her  special  grace 
and  favour;  her  death  must  move  him  deeply.  With  such 
thoughts  I entered  his  room.  . . . Already  informed 

of  the  death,  he  was  sitting  at  the  table  with  his  daughter- 
in-law  and  grandchildren  ...  all  the  bells  of  the  city 
began  to  toll,  Frau  von  Goethe  looked  at  me  and  we  began  to 
speak  louder,  in  Order  that  the  tones  of  the  death  knell 
might  not  rouse  and  agitate  his  inner  being.  For  we  thought 
that  he  feit  as  we  did.  But  he  did  not  feel  as  we  feit;  the 
state  of  his  inner  being  was  entirely  different.  He  sat 
before  us  like  a being  of  a higher  world,  inaccessible  to 
earthly  sorrows.  ” 

He  was  having  his  divine  hour. 

The  hardest  hour  which  his  powers  of  soul  were  called 
upon  to  undergo  came  in  the  late  autumn  of  the  same  year, 
when  he  was  bereft  of  his  only  son.  With  all  the  love  and 
veneration  which  August  cherished  for  his  father,  he  had. 
as  time  went  on,  become  a source  of  ever-increasing  annoy- 
ance  and  ever-diminishing  pleasure.  When  Goethe  wrote  of 


i86 


Gbe  Xife  of  öoetbe 


himself,  in  the  year  1827,  that  with  the  highest  pleasure, 
which  he  was  enjoying  and  which  might  raise  him  above 
himself,  there  was  still  combined  much  that  reduced  this 
pleasure,  the  most  prominent  moderating  factor  which  he 
had  in  mind  was  doubtless  his  son’s  condition.  Though 
not  wanting  in  talents,  August  was  not  gifted  enough  to  ac- 
complish  great  things,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not  un- 
aspiring  enough  to  be  satisfied  with  small  things — as,  for 
example,  his  office  as  councillor  of  the  board  of  domains,  or 
his  Services  as  an  assistant  to  his  father.  He  thirsted  for 
more  important  achievements,  the  more  so  as  he  was  chafed 
by  the  feeling  that  he  was  everywhere  esteemed  only  as  the 
son  of  his  father.  The  deep  dissatisfaction  arising  from 
this  source  was  further  intensified  by  his  unhappy,  loveless 
marriage,  and  by  his  own  irascible  and  eccentric  nature.  By 
virtue  of  this  nature  he  resorted  to  a most  dangerous  remedy 
to  benumb  his  sense  of  inward  disruption : he  gave  the  rein  to 
his  natural  inclination  toward  sensual  enjoyment.  Under 
the  combined  influence  of  such  hostile  powers  he  went  to  ruin, 
body  and  soul.  He  saw  and  feit  his  decline  and  longed  for 
an  event  that  would  snatch  him  from  his  accustomed  path  of 
life.  A journey  to  Italy  had  left  a trail  of  light  throughout 
the  whole  gloomy  life  of  his  grandfather,  and  had  been  the 
means  whereby  his  father  had  experieneed  a regeneration  of 
body  and  spirit.  Such  a journey  seemed  to  him  the  event 
for  which  he  yearned. 

Goethe  gave  his  consent,  but  with  little  hope  of  beneficial 
results.  He  knew  that  his  son’s  condition  was  entirely  dif- 
ferent from  his  own  and  his  father’s.  To  Eckermann,  who 
was  to  accompany  August,  he  said  by  way  of  instruction 
for  the  journey,  “ The  chief  thing  is  that  one  leam  to  control 
one’s  seif.”  On  the  2d  of  April  the  two  set  out  on  the  way. 
They  went  first  to  Frankfort,  then  up  the  Rhine  to  Switzer- 
land,  over  the  Simplon  to  northem  Italy,  of  which  they 
made  a thorough  tour,  and  thence  on  to  Genoa.  Here  Ecker- 
mann, who  had  been  ill  for  some  time,  was  forced  to  remain 
behind.  August  went  on  alone  to  Florence,  then  to  Leghorn , 
and,  as  a sign  that  a new  era  had  dawned,  joumeyed  thence 


3from  1824  to  1830 


187 


by  steamboat  to  Naples.  According  to  his  father’s  State- 
ment, his  letters  from  Naples  began  to  indicate  an  un- 
healthy  exaltation.  He  finally  turned  his  Steps  to  Rome, 
and  had  been  there  but  a few  days  when,  under  the  strain  of 
an  attack  of  scarlet  fever,  his  shattered  Constitution  gave 
way.  He  died  in  the  night  of  the  2Öth  to  the  2 7th  of  Octo- 
ber,  “ patri  antevertens ,”  as  the  touching,  laconic  epitaph  on 
his  tomb  teils  us. 

On  the  ioth  of  November  the  news  of  his  death  arrived 
in  Weimar.  Outwardly  Goethe  preserved  his  composure 
perfectly ; but  inwardly  his  grief  raged  all  the  more  violently. 
We  know  this  from  his  own  words,  from  the  testimony 
which  he  bore  in  confidential  letters.  Even  though  he  had 
not  confessed  it  we  should  have  been  able  to  recognise  it  from 
many  signs.  One  of  the  most  remar kable  of  these  was  the 
timidity  with  which  he  avoided  the  words  “death”  and 
“die”  whenever  the  conversation  turned  upon  August.  To 
his  daughter-in-law  he  broke  the  news  of  the  death  in  these 
words:  “August  is  not  coming  back.”  To  Zelter  he  spoke 

twice  of  his  son’s  “staying  awray,”*  and  on  a third  occasion 
veiled  the  terrible  fact  in  the  mild  words,  “He  set  out  on 
the  way  in  order  to  rest  by  the  Pyramid  of  Cestius.”  Even 
in  his  own  house  no  one  dared  mention  the  death  of  August. 

The  important  thing  was  not  merely  to  keep  the  wound 
from  being  touched,  but  to  heal  it.  “ Here  it  is  the  great 
conception  of  duty  alone  that  can  keep  one  up ; the  spirit  is 
willing  and  the  body  must,”  was  one  of  his  utterances  dur- 
ing  the  first  days  of  mourning.  So  he  gathered  together 
all  his  strength  and  sought  to  forget  his  sorrow  by  keeping 
his  mind  more  intent  on  his  wrork.  The  pain  vras  alleviated 
in  this  way,  it  is  true,  but  for  the  violent  Suppression  of 
natural  feelings  he  had  to  pay  the  penalty,  as  usual.  This 

* The  passages  are  so  remarkable  that  we  quote  them  here:  “The 

staying  away  of  my  son  oppressed  me  very  violently  and  disagreeably,  in 
more  than  one  way,  and  so  I took  up  a piece  of  work  that,  I hoped,  would 
entirely  absorb  my  attention.” 

“I  now  have  to  become  gradually  reconciled  to  the  staying  away  o £ 
my  son.  In  the  attempt,  which  I am  forced  to  make,  to  become  once 
more  a householder  I am  meeting  with  no  little  success.” 


1 88 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


time  the  penalty  was  so  much  the  heavier  because  it  had 
cost  the  man  of  advanced  age  so  much  more  exertion  to  con- 
trol  his  emotions.  On  the  2Öth  day  of  November  he 
suffered  an  uncommonly  severe  hemorrhage,  which  for  any 
other  man  at  his  age  would  have  been  fatal.  But  his  good 
Constitution,  supported  by  the  mighty  spiritual  fire,  which 
was  fed  by  his  unfinished  Faust , overcame  even  this  attack 
most  completely  and  in  a wonderfully  short  space  of  time. 
Faust  and  his  life  were  not  to  remain  fragments. 

Two  years  before  he  put  the  last  hand  to  Faust  he  had 
finished  Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre.  This  was  not  an 
accident,  but  an  inward  necessity.  Die  Wanderjahre  is  both 
a preparatory  work  to  Faust,  and  runs  parallel  with  it.  It 
is  Faust  in  the  pupal  stage.  Hence  we  shall  prepare  the  way 
for  Faust  by  studying  first  Die  Wanderjahre. 


VI 

WILHELM  MEISTERS  WANDERJAHRE 


Die  Lehrjahre  implies  a sequel— Composition  of  the  new  novel — General 
plan — Die  Wahlverwandtschaften — Publication  of  “First  Part” — 
The  novel  gains  by  holding  back  of  “ Second  Part  New  sociolog- 
ical  theories — The  work  finally  published — Additions  to  second  and 
third  volumes  eliminated  in  later  editions — The  novel  an  aggrega- 
tion — Carelessness  in  redaction — Work  and  resignation  the  funda- 
mental ideas— Wilhelm  commanded  to  travel — His  instructions — 
Aimless  wanderings — Visit  with  a handicraftsman — Sankt  Joseph 
der  Zweite — The  handicraftsman  a Symbol  of  the  working  world — 
Reasons  for  this  choice — Wilhelm  visits  Jarno — His  inclination  to 
become  a surgeon — The  age  of  specialties — The  giant’s  cave — 
Visit  to  the  uncle — The  uncle’s  work — Contrast  with  the  uncle  of 
Die  Lehrjahre — Die  pilgernde  Törin — Wer  ist  der  Verräter? — Visit 
to  Makarie — Contrast  with  the  Beautiful  Soul — Wilhelm ’s  intro- 
duction  to  astronomy — The  starry  heavens  and  the  moral  law — 
Das  nussbraune  Mädchen — Felix  in  the  pedagogical  province — Der 
Mann  von  fünfzig  Jahren — Wilhelm  finds  Nachodine — Visit  to 
Mignon’s  old  home — Journey  to  Lago  Maggiore — Lenardo— Wil- 
helm studies  surgery — Tour  of  the  “pedagogical  province” — The 
social  Community  and  the  democratic  community — The  “Bond ” — 
Economic  revolution  foreshadowed — ■ — Nachodine  and  Lenardo — 
Work  of  the  “ Bond  ” — Die  neue  Melusine — Goethe  and  emigra- 
tion — Odoard’s  colonisation  scheme — The  “ Bond”  divided — Puri- 
fication  of  Philine  and  Lydie — Felix’s  suit  for  Hersilie — Rejected, 
heridesinto  a river,  but  is  rescued  by  hisfather — Natalie  and  Frau 
von  Stein — The  emigrants  in  the  New  World — Their  government — 
Valuation  of  time — World  piety — Need  of  new  men — New  educa- 
tional  theories — Goethe’s  System,  as  seen  in  the  “pedagogical  pro- 
vince”— Subjects  and  methods — Prominence  of  music — Reverence 
for  the  divine  in  one’s  seif — Three  picture  galleries — Three  styles  of 
greeting — Impression  of  the  novel  as  a whole- — The  gospel  of  labour 
— The  educated  dass  of  the  day — Goethe’s  plea  for  less  theory  and 
more  practice — General  lack  of  interest  in  public  affairs — The 
brotherhood  of  man — World  piety. 

ON  the  i2th  day  of  July,  1796,  Goethe  announced 
to  Schiller  his  determination  to  write  a sequel  to 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre.  Inäsmuch  as,  at  the 
completion  of  his  apprenticeship,  the  German  journeyman 

189 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


190 

enters  upon  his  travels,  it  was  obvious  what  title  should  be 
chosen  for  the  new  work.  Tn  order  to  prepare  the  way  for 
a continuation  of  the  novel,  and  to  suggest  to  his  readers 
the  possibility  of  one,  Goethe  had  left  the  structure  of  Die 
Lehrjahre  in  such  a state  that  additions  could  easily  be 
made.  They  are  almost  exclusively  of  an  internal  charac- 
ter — that  is  to  say,  they  point  to  the  continuation  of  certain 
chains  of  thought.  The  only  one  of  an  external  nature  is  the 
journey  which  Wilhelm  plans  to  the  home  of  Mignon,  a 
motive  which  is  later  treated  only  in  an  episodical  way. 
The  internal  motives  are  partly  pedagogical : the  contradic- 
tions  between  the  abbe’s  liberal  principles  of  education  and 
the  stricter  principles  of  Natalie  have  not  been  reconciled, 
and  a more  detailed  account  of  Natalie’s  method  of  educa- 
tion has  been  promised  for  a future  chapter.  They  are 
partly  ethical  and  sociological,  as,  for  example,  the  trans- 
formation  of  the  towTer  society  into  a world  federation,  an 
Organisation  for  philanthropic  work  in  the  world.  From 
these  signs  pointing  to  the  distant  future  we  recognise  that 
it  was  originally  Goethe’s  intention  to  give  the  contents  of 
Die  Wander  jahre  that  general  character  which  he  actually 
did  give  it  more  than  thirty  years  later. 

He  also  seems  rather  early  to  have  had  clear  ideas  as  to 
the  manner  of  treatment.  It  was  to  be  entirely  different 
from  that  of  Die  Lehrjahre.  What  he  planned  to  paint  was 
not  one  comprehensive,  self-consistent  picture,  but  a frieze- 
like  series,  joined  together  by  luxuriant  didactic  foliage. 
This  style  of  composition  is  evident  in  what  he  wrote  in 
1807,  when  he  began  serious  work  on  the  novel.  On  the  iyth 
of  May  he  made  the  solemn  note  in  his  diary : “ At  half  past 

six  in  the  morning  began  to  dictate  the  first  chapter  of  Wil- 
helm Meisters  Wanderjahre.”  Then  in  the  second  half  of 
May,  in  June,  and  later  in  August,  he  put  into  final  form, 
in  quick  succession,  the  story  of  Sankt  Joseph  der  Zweite, 
which  runs  through  the  first  four  chapters;  then  Die  neue 
Melusine,  Die  gefährliche  Wette,  Der  Mann  von  fünf  zig  Jahren, 
Das  nussbraune  Mädchen  (who  was  called  Nachodine  even 
at  that  early  date),  and  Die  pilgernde  Törin, — all  more  or 


Wilbelm  HDeisterö  Mant>er]abre  1 9 1 

less  independent  stories.  He  finished  these  on  the  5th  of 
August,  and  during  the  following  days  “thought  over” 
further  the  “ novelistic  motives  for  Die  W ander jahre." 

The  fact  that  he  speaks  of  novelistic  motives  is  an  indica- 
tion  that,  even  at  that  time,  he  had  also  some  purely  didac- 
tic  motives  in  mind.  Meditation  on  the  novelistic  portions, 
as  we  prefer  to  call  them,  produced  at  the  moment  no  new 
results.  But  at  the  end  of  the  year  his  tree  of  life  dropped 
a glorious  full  fruitage  into  his  lap.  His  heart  was  then 
aglow  with  unhappy  love  for  Minna  Herzlieb,  and  resigna- 
tion  was  forced  upon  him.  His  experience  transformed 
into  poetry,  together  with  the  motive  of  resignation,  was 
eminently  suited  for  Die  Wander jahre,  and  he  decided  to  in- 
troduce  the  passionate  composition  into  the  novel.  But  it 
sprang  up  with  such  vigour  that  its  magnitude  soon  burst  the 
framework  of  Die  W ander  jahre ; and  its  blcod  was  so  hot 
that  its  glow  would  have  killed  the  colder-blooded  daughters 
of  fancy  and  worldly  wisdom,  with  which  it  was  to  be  asso- 
ciated.  So  he  set  it  apart  as  an  independent  work  and  gave 
it  the  title  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften. 

In  April,  1810,  he  made  another  serious  attempt  to  con- 
tinue  Die  Wanderjahre.  In  May  he  wrote  to  Frau  von 
Schiller  that  at  Michaelmas  his  friends  would  be  forced  to 
accompany  the  same  old  Wilhelm  on  a joumey,  on  which 
they  should  meet  many  different  earthly  and  heavenly 
saints.  He  worked  at  it  with  considerable  diligence  during 
the  summer,  but  then  laid  it  aside.  Apparently  he  came 
upon  difficulties  which,  for  the  moment,  he  was  unable  to 
surmount.  Perhaps  the  interruption  was  not  unwelcome  to 
him.  The  work  was  such  a convenient  repository  for  the 
many  problems  of  life  and  other  topics  of  the  time  which 
agitated  him  that  it  seemed  to  him  advisable  to  continue 
to  use  it  for  that  purpose  as  much  longer  as  possible.  In 
this  way  ten  long  years  were  allowed  to  go  by.  He  had 
meanwhile  reached  the  age  of  seventy  and  it  was  now  time 
to  gather  the  harvest  into  the  bam. 

So  he  took  up  the  refractory  material  once  more  and 
got  together  a volume  which  he  sent  into  the  world  in  1821 


Zb e Xife  of  (Boetbe 


192 

as  the  “First  Part”  of  Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre.  In 
addition  to  the  Makarie  episode,  the  important  ending  of 
the  story  entitled  Das  nussbraune  Mädchen , and  many  other 
features  later  to  become  prominent,  the  “ First  Part”  lacked 
almost  entirely  the  sociological  element  contained  in  the 
subsequent  complete  edition.  Hence  we  may  infer  that  this 
element  was  reserved  for  the  “Second  Part.”  Goethe  was 
guided  by  wonderful  instinct  in  deciding  what  to  publish 
and  what  to  lay  aside  for  the  time  being. 

The  next  decade  abounded  with  new  sociological  theories 
and  movements  which  enabled  him  to  test  his  own  ideas  and 
extend  them.  The  bookkeeper  Fourier  published  in  1822 
his  Traite  de  V Association  Domestique  et  Agricole;  Count  de 
Saint-Simon  published  the  same  year  his  Systeme  Industriell 
in  1824  his  Catechisme  des  Industriels  and  in  1825  his  Nouveau 
Christianisme ; in  1824  the  Scotch  manufacturer  and  philan- 
thropist Robert  Owen  established  in  Indiana  his  communistic 
colony  New  Harmony;  the  Genevan  Sismondi’s  Nouveaux 
Principes  d’ Economie  Politique,  which  had  appeared  in  1819, 
was  now  received  with  favour  and  experienced  a second 
edition  in  1827;  and,  lastly,  in  1824  The  Westminster  Review 
was  established  in  London  for  the  stronger  advocacy  and 
better  dissemination  of  Bentham’s  utilitarianism.  It  was 
doubtless  in  view  of  these  rapidly  multiplying  sociological 
discussions  and  experiments  that  Goethe  said  to  Sulpiz 
Boisseree,  on  the  iyth  of  February,  1827,  that  he  now  under- 
stood  why  this  work  could  not  be  finished  sooner. 

In  1825  he  had  again  taken  it  in  hand.  It  advanced 
slowly  and  at  intervals,  but  not  until  the  autumn  of  1828 
did  a more  rapid  progress  begin.  The  poet  gave  up  the  plan 
of  Publishing  a “ Second  Part”  to  follow  the  already  existing 
“First  Part.”  He  preferred  to  pull  to  pieces  what  was 
already  done  and  wTeave  it  into  an  entirely  new  texture. 
Finally  in  February,  1829,  in  his  eightieth  year,  after  many 
pains  and  sighs,  the  great  work  was  finished, — and  yet  not 
finished.  It  was  still  to  experience  a stränge  fate  while 
being  printed.  In  the  new  form  it  appeared  so  voluminous 
that  Goethe  reserved  for  it  three  volumes  in  the  complete 


Wilhelm  flDeisters  Wanherjabre  193 

edition  of  his  works  then  being  published.  But  when  the 
second  volume  was  printed  it  was  found  that  both  this  and 
the  third  would  be  too  small  in  comparison  with  the  others 
of  the  series.  What  was  to  be  done? 

As  a minister  and  a poet  he  had  always  been  a man  of 
determination,  and  so  this  Situation  could  not  embarrass 
him.  To  his  faithful  Eckermann  he  gave  two  bundles  of 
manuscripts,  containing  aphorisms  on  art,  nature,  and  life, 
and  commissioned  him  to  select  from  them  as  many  as 
would  be  necessary  to  fall  up  the  required  number  of  pages. 
As  a matter  of  fact  these  aphorisms  were  just  as  much  in 
place  in  the  novel,  perhaps  even  more,  than  the  story  Wer  ist 
der  Verräter  ? or  Der  Mann  von  fünfzig  Jahren.  Eckermann 
accepted  the  task  and  compiled  two  large  groups,  which  were 
inserted  at  the  close  of  the  second  and  third  volumes  under 
the  respective  titles  Betrachtungen  im  Sinne  der  Wandern 
and  Aus  Makariens  Archiv.  To  make  the  stränge  additions 
still  more  stränge,  each  group  closed  with  a poem — the  first 
with  Vermächtnis , the  second  with  Bei  Betrachtung  von  Schil- 
lers Schädel — and  the  whole  work  ended  with  an  enigmatical 
“ To  be  continued.”  When  the  public  shook  their  decidedly 
puzzled  heads  at  these  foreign  scions  ingrafted  upon  the 
original  stock,  Goethe  laughed  and  said  that  in  a future 
edition  Eckermann  might  remove  them.  This  was  done, 
and  so  we  now  have  before  us  the  work  as  it  was  to  appear 
according  to  the  poet’s  last  will,  but  not  in  the  final  form  in 
which  he  himself  published  it. 

This  closing  phase  of  the  composition  of  the  work  shows 
plainly  enough  what  liberty  the  poet  allowed  himself  in  his 
last  novel.  He  had  gradually  extended  this  liberty  farther 
and  farther.  We  are  justified  in  supposing  that  originally 
it  was  his  intention  to  incorporate  in  the  work  a series  of 
stories  which  in  content  were  foreign  to  the  real  body  of  the 
novel,  but  in  their  teaching  were  in  close  affinity  with  it. 
They  were  to  illustrate  the  chief  ideas  of  the  novel  in  the  hope 
that  the  pictures  would  enhance  the  effect  of  the  ideas.  It 
was  certainly  also  a part  of  Goethe’s  plan  to  make  each 

individual  story  a complete  whole  in  itself . As  he  proceeded 
13 


i94 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


with  the  work  he  forsook  this  high  artistic  ground  and  intro- 
duced  some  chapters  which  serve  no  other  purpose  than  to 
afford  agreeable  interruptions  of  the  long  didactic  portions. 
Other  stories  he  broke  off  abruptly  and  left  the  ruins  Stand- 
ing exposed,  or  concealed  them  beneath  a scant  temporary 
covering. 

He  himself  did  not  fail  to  recognise  the  piecemeal  char- 
acter  of  this  stränge  creation,  and  so  he  designated  it  an 
aggregate,  a complex,  a collectivum.  But  he  was  not  dis- 
satisfied  with  it.  Like  everything  eise,  he  had  come  to  look 
npon  even  this  form  as  a Symbol,  and  that  too  an  apt  one. 
On  the  23h  of  November,  1829,  he  wrote  to  Rochlitz:  “It 

is  with  such  a booklet  as  with  life  itself : in  the  complex  of 
the  whole  are  to  be  found  necessary  and  incidental  elements, 
projected  and  unfinished  portions,  plans  now  successfully 
wrought  out  and  now  frustrated,  and  all  this,  taken  together, 
gives  it  a kind  of  infinitude,  which  cannot  be  expressed  or 
comprehended  in  reasonable  and  sensible  words.” 

As  we  are  unable  to  reconcile  ourselves  to  any  such  sym- 
bolism  we  naturally  feel  vexed  at  the  poet’s  capricious 
insertion  and  patching  together  of  heterogeneous  and  frag- 
mentary  bodies,  and  our  vexation  is  increased  by  the  incred- 
ible  carelessness  of  the  redaction.  When  Olympians  are 
careless  they  are  careless  with  Olympic  greatness.  Once  the 
author  had  given  up  the  plan  of  making  the  novel  a work 
of  art,  he  ceased  to  exercise  care  in  its  structure.  He 
repeated  himself,  he  contradicted  himself,  confused  names, 
passed,  in  the  midst  of  a personal  narrative,  directh7  from 
the  first  person  to  the  third  and  back  again  from  the  third 
to  the  first,  showed  no  regard  for  the  relations  of  time  and 
place,  erased  now  too  much,  now  too  little,  made  promises 
without  fulfilling  them,  and  so  on.  But  the  less  attention  he 
paid  to  the  exterior,  the  more  he  bestowed  on  the  interior; 
and  no  caprice  of  composition,  no  sin  of  redaction  must  keep 
us  from  penetrating  this  interior  and  bringing  out  the  treas- 
ures  which  lie  concealed  therein.  The  way  will  be  consider- 
ably  easier  for  us  if  we  are  prepared  in  advance  for  its 
deviations  and  unevennesses,  and  if  we  seek  the  goal  not  in 


THUUbelm  Leisters  TÄUanberjabte  195 

the  development  of  events,  but  in  that  of  ideas.  Then  the  iso- 
lated  poetic  portions  will  shine  out  as  stars,  and  we  shall 
not  ask  what  part  they  play  in  the  System  of  worlds. 

The  two  great  fundamental  ideas  running  through  Die 
Wanderjahre  are  work  and  resignation.  Resignation  means 
much.  It  means  limitation,  concentration.  It  is  man’s 
duty  to  limit  his  striving  and  to  concentrate  all  his  powers 
on  the  limited  field.  Resignation  means  the  conquering  of 
passions,  means  the  giving  up  of  many  inherited  and  eamed 
advantages,  rights,  and  possessions.  It  transforms  the  man 
of  impulses  into  a man  of  reason,  the  selfish  man  into  a 
public-spirited  man,  the  egoist  into  an  altruist.  It  exerts 
such  a profound  influence  on  man’s  nature  and  development 
that  Goethe  considered  it,  next  to  work,  the  most  important 
principle  of  life.  Hence  he  gave  the  novel,  which  was  to 
show  forth  the  foundations  of  a prosperous  individual  and 
public  life,  the  sub title  The  Resigned. 

In  Order  that  he  may  treat  these  great  fundamental 
ideas  in  their  full  depth  and  breadth  Goethe  ignores  what 
has  been  accomplished  in  Die  Lehrjahre,  namely,  that  Wil- 
helm has  already  attained  to  limitation  and  definite,  pro- 
ductive work.  He  still  presents  him  to  us  as  the  same  old 
Wilhelm,  striving  after  an  indefinite,  very  general  idea  of 
education,  without  any  fixed  occupation,  without  any 
definite  aim,  except  perchance  that  of  being  happy  in  belle- 
tristic  comfort  by  the  side  of  Natalie.  And  because  he  still 
is  the  same  old  Wilhelm  the  secret  society  of  the  tower  which, 
under  the  guidance  of  Lothario  and  the  abbe,  is  about  to 
convert  itself  into  a world  federation,  has  sent  him  out  to 
travel.  It  tears  him  from  Natalie  at  the  moment  of  his 
highest  happiness  in  order  that  he  may  leam  resignation. 
He  must  not  stay  anywhere  more  than  three  days,  in  order 
that  through  etemal  change  he  may  leam  perseverance.  He 
must  not  complain — wise  Natalie  herseif  had  forbidden  him 
that — -as  he  might  destroy  his  powers  by  fruitlessly  dwelling 
on  his  pain.  And  wherever  he  may  meet  the  members  of 
the  federation  he  must  speak  to  them  neither  of  the  past 


196 


ftbe  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


nor  of  the  future,  but  always  of  the  present,  so  that  he 
may  be  kept  free  from  penitence  and  from  dreams,  and 
may  concentrate  the  full  cleamess  of  his  thought  and 
the  unbroken  strength  of  his  will  upon  the  demand  of  the 
day. 

Wilhelm  roams  about  with  Felix  through  the  Alps  and 
descends  now  on  this,  now  on  that,  side  of  the  mountains. 
As  his  life,  so  his  wanderings  have  no  fixed  goal.  In  a pass 
he  meets  the  family  of  a handicraftsman ; the  mother,  with  a 
nursing  child,  riding  on  an  ass,  the  father,  with  two  strik- 
ingly  beautiful  boys,  on  foot.  Wilhelm  fancies  he  sees  the 
holy  family.  He  visits  the  family,  who  live  in  what  was 
formerly  a convent  in  the  valley  below,  and  is  charmed  with 
the  idyl  which  reveals  itself  to  him  there,  and  which  Goethe 
has  painted  with  the  delicate,  soft,  warm  colours  of  a Fra 
Angelico.  It  is  a picture  of  peaceful,  busy,  contented, 
healthy,  moral  life, — an  overture  to  Die  Wanderjahre,  signifi- 
cant  in  that  it  suggests  all  the  motives  to  appear  in  the  whole 
work,  yet  even  more  significant  in  its  contrast  with  Die 
Lehrjahre. 

Whither  had  Goethe  taken  Wilhelm  in  Die  Lehrjahre ? 
To  inns  and  castles,  among  actors  and  nobles.  Some  lived  on 
appearance  and  in  appearance.  Others  lived  on  inheritance, 
and  those  most  distinguished  among  them,  the  Count  and 
the  Countess,  lived  also  in  appearance.  Nowhere  was  there 
any  happy  family  life;  indeed,  marriage  was  looked  upon 
almost  with  indifference.  In  Die  Wanderjahre  Wilhelm  is 
taken  to  the  home  of  a handicraftsman,  where  everything 
is  thoroughly  real  and  of  the  family’s  own  making,  and 
where  pure,  deep  satisfaction  and  strict  morality  spring 
from  marriage  and  work. 

Here,  as  farther  on,  Goethe  has  chosen  the  handicrafts- 
man as  a representative  of  the  working  world . Not  as 
though  he  placed  a lower  value  on  intellectual  work — 
such  a thing  would  have  been  out  of  the  question  with  him — 
but  because  work  with  the  hands  is  a plainer  and  more 
suggestive  symbol.  Both  the  work  itself  and  the  fruit  of  it 
stand  out  before  us  in  more  tangible  form.  The  handi- 


Wilhelm  flßeisters  Wanberjabre  197 

craftsman  is  a little  god.*  He  brings  forth  daily  new  Crea- 
tions, almost  independent  of  nature,  dependent  only  upon 
his  own  hands.  In  this  respect  he  has  an  advantage  over 
the  peasant,  whose  activity  is  useful,  but  not  Creative.  By 
his  industry,  care,  and  cleverness  the  peasant  merely  makes 
it  possible  for  nature  to  bestow  her  gifts  richly  and  with 
regularity.  Often,  however,  she  fails  to  respond  to  his  la- 
bours  and  then  all  his  work  seems  fruitless.  Goethe  may 
have  left  the  peasant  out  of  consideration  for  the  further 
reason  that  in  his  day  the  peasant  was  too  bowed  down  by 
the  consequences  of  the  feudal  yoke,  was  too  dull  and  dead, 
to  be  of  any  use  for  higher  poetical  tendencies. 

Furth ermore  the  man  who  works  with  his  hands,  espe- 
cially  the  handicraftsman,  has  another  great  and  real  advan- 
tage over  the  man  who  works  with  his  head.  The  activity 
of  the  brain-worker  always  has  extensible,  and  hence  vari- 
able, limits;  that  of  the  handicraftsman,  on  the  other  hand, 
has  absolutely  fixed  limits.  Goethe  early  gazed  with  envy 
and  longing  upon  this  happiness  of  the  handicraftsman. 
We  hear  the  Sentiment  reflected  in  the  words  of  the  divine, 
original  handicraftsman,  Prometheus,  who  preferred  a 
small  kingdom  which  he  could  fill  with  his  activity  to  a 
boundless  one  exceeding  and  dissipating  his  powers.  We 
hear  it  more  definitely  in  Werther’s  letters  from  Switzerland, 
where  Goethe,  through  Werther,  exclaims:  “I  have  never 

so  clearly  realised  as  during  these  last  days  that  I could  be 
happy  in  a state  of  limitation,  . . . if  I only  knew  some 

* Der  du  an  dem  Weberstuhle  sitzest, 

Unterrichtet,  mit  behenden  Gliedern 
Fäden  durch  die  Fäden  schlingest,  alle 
Durch  den  Taktschlag  aneinander  drängest, 

Du  bist  Schöpfer,  dass  die  Gottheit  lächeln 
Deiner  Arbeit  muss  und  deinem  Fleisse. 

[Thou  who  sittest  at  the  weaver’s  loom, 

Know’st  thy  trade,  with  nimble  hands  and  feet 
Hast’nest  threads  a hundred  threads  between, 

Binding  all  in  one  with  rhythmic  beat, 

Thou  art  a creator ; on  thy  work, 

On  thine  industry,  must  God  e’er  smile.] 

Vorspiel  zu  Eröffnung  d.  Weim.  Theaters  (1807). 


I9S 


Zhe  Xtfe  of  (Boetbe 


stirring  occupation  . . . that  demanded  of  the  moment 
both  industry  and  decision.  . . . Every  handicraftsman 
seems  to  me  the  happiest  of  men.  What  he  has  to  do 
is  known  to  him,  what  he  can  accomplish  has  already  been 
decided.  . . . He  works  . . . with  application  and  love, 
as  the  bee  constructs  her  cells.  . . . How  I envy  the  pot- 
ter  at  his  wheel,  the  cabinetmaker  at  his  workbench!  ” 

Finally  Goethe  had  a third  motive  for  bringing  the  handi- 
craftsman into  the  foreground.  He  foresaw  more  distinctly 
than  others  the  extraordinary  importance  of  this  dass  in 
coming  years.  To  make  society  feel  this  importance  seemed 
to  him  a Service  of  the  highest  value. 

On  the  third  day  Wilhelm  leaves  the  happy  carpenter’s 
family  and  climbs  back  up  into  the  mountains,  where  he 
meets  Jarno.  In  the  spirit  of  the  federation  and  out  of  per- 
sonal conviction  Jarno  has  resigned  the  great  world  and  a 
half-idle  life,  and  has  limited  himself  by  becoming  a miner.30 
In  order  to  have  some  outward  sign  of  the  new  life  which  he 
has  begun  he  has  assumed  a new  name,  Montan.  He  has 
become  somewhat  quicker,  rüder,  and  more  realistic  than  he 
was  in  Die  Lehrjahre.  He  is  a true  son  of  the  nineteenth  Cen- 
tury, and  that  too,  as  we  are  surprised  to  see,  more  of  the  end 
than  of  the  beginning  of  the  Century.  “ Fools’  nonsense,” 
he  exclaims  to  Wilhelm,  “ your  general  education.  . . We 
are  now  living  in  an  age  of  one-sidednesses.  The  essential 
thing  is  for  a man  to  understand  something  thoroughly  and 
completely,  or  do  something  excellently.  . . . Make  an 
organ  out  of  yourself  and  then  wait  to  see  what  position 
mankind  will  generously  assign  to  you!  . . . The  best 
thing  is  to  limit  one’s  seif  to  one  handicraft.”  Under  the 
weight  of  Jarno’s  words  Wilhelm  confesses  timidly  that  he 
is  inclined  to  devote  himself  to  a “special  occupation,”  a 
particularly  useful  art,  namely,  surgery. 

His  chosen  calling,  then,  was  not  to  be  that  of  a physician 
practising  in  all  branches  of  the  Held.  Apparently  this 
seemed  to  Goethe  too  general,  too  theoretical,  and  left  too 
much  room  for  fancies  and  opinions,  which  make  one  uncer- 
tain  and  dissatisfied.  It  had  to  be  a specialty,  and  that,  too, 


TKHUbelm  flDeisters  Wanberjabre  199 

one  which  particularly  requires  manual  skill ; in  fact,  the  word 
surgery  means  literally  handicraft.  Wilhelm  attaches  to 
this  change  to  surgery  but  one  condition,  viz.,  that  he  shall  be 
freed,  through  Jarno’s  intervention,  from  his  Obligation  to 
remain  nowhere  longer  than  three  days. 

Wilhelm  took  leave  of  Jarno  and  on  his  wanderings  came 
to  a basaltic  cave,  which,  in  his  ignorance  of  nature,  he  took 
to  be  a black  castle  of  giants.  Felix  explored  the  interior 
and  found  there  a splendid  little  golden  casket,  which  was 
locked.  We  may  interpret  the  casket  as  a symbol  of  life. 
It  seemed  golden  to  Felix,  for  whom  it  was  still  locked,  so 
that  he  could  see  it  only  from  without.  The  Wanderers 
proceeded  farther  and  came  to  a large  estate. 

With  “St.  Joseph”  all  had  been  good  and  excellent, 
but  the  influence  of  the  goodness  and  excellence  had  been 
confined  to  a narrow  sphere.  It  was  beautiful  home  piety. 
Modern  life  demands  the  higher  stage  of  world  piety,  labour 
for  the  common  good  on  a broad  scale,  a transformation  of 
work  for  seif  into  work  for  all.  There  is  nothing  in  this  in 
contradiction  with  limitation.  The  tendency  is  to  be  widely 
extended.  Lothario  had  already  made  a small  begin- 
ning  toward  the  carrying  out  of  this  high  aim.  We  see  it 
realised  on  a grander  scale  on  the  extensive  estate  of  the 
uncle  of  Die  Wanderjahre,  into  whose  castle  Wilhelm  now 
enters.  Lothario  was  a European,  but  had  been  in  America. 
The  uncle  was  an  American,  but  had  settled  in  Europe.  Ac- 
cording  to  Goethe ’s  idea  the  new  social  Organisation  of  the 
world  needed  men  from  the  new  world,  unhampered  by  old 
customs  and  prejudices,  but  saturated  with  old  culture, 
practical  men  in  the  highest  sense,  but  not  egoists,  utilita- 
rians  and  at  the  same  time  devoted  philanthropists. 

The  uncle’s  grandfather  was  such  a man.  Born  in 
Germany,  he  had  lived  for  a long  time  in  England  and  had 
been  influenced  by  the  thorough,  noble  work  of  Penn  to 
emigrate  to  America.  He  had  there  acquired  a large  amount 
of  landed  property,  which  his  son  considerably  increased. 
But  this  great  estate  did  not  hold  the  grandson  fast.  When 
he  visited  Europe  and  became  acquainted  with  its  high 


200 


ZTbe  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


culture  the  unfolding  of  a worthy  social  activity  seemed  to 
him  more  attractive  in  the  midst  of  this  culture  than  among 
the  mosquitoes  and  the  Iroquois. 

So  he  obtained  possession  of  the  old  family  estate,  over 
which  he  ruled,  according  to  the  author’s  conception,  about 
like  a free  baron.  But  in  addition  to  being  ruler  and  owner 
he  was  also  a most  industrious  and  most  faithful  worker 
and  official.  He  gradually  put  his  lands  into  excellent 
condition,  but  allowed  the  profits  of  the  undertaking  to 
inure  so  far  as  possible  to  his  servants,  his  peasants,  and  to 
the  needy,  even  far  beyond  the  boundaries  of  his  possessions. 
On  his  estate  was  to  be  seen  the  motto,  “ Possessions  and 
common  property.”  He  considered  his  possessions  common 
property  which  he  merely  managed  for  the  others.  Hence 
it  was  his  duty  to  make  these  possessions  as  useful  as  pos- 
sible. He  held  together  that  he  might  give ; he  was  an  egoist 
for  others.  The  reduction  in  his  income  owing  to  his  public 
spirit  he  characterised  with  humorous,  one  might  almost 
say  American,  graciousness,  as  an  expense  which  gave  him 
pleasure,  and  in  which  he  did  not  even  have  the  trouble  of 
letting  the  money  pass  through  his  hands. 

He  considered  it  one  of  the  most  important  tasks  of  his 
administrative  office,  a labour  of  charity  in  the  higher  sense, 
not  only  to  give  to  others,  but  to  help  others  to  advance,  to 
inspire  them,  by  means  of  gifts,  to  productive  work.  For 
example,  to  the  industrious  and  careful  farmers  he  pre- 
sented  young  trees  from  his  nurseries  free  of  Charge,  whereas 
he  made  the  careless  ones  pay  for  all  they  received.  He 
was  inexorably  strict  with  lazy  workmen  and  ejected  a 
farmer  who  neither  paid  his  rent  nor  kept  his  farm  in  good 
condition.  Toleration  of  such  people  would  have  had  a 
demoralising  effect  on  the  general  community  and  would,  at 
the  same  time,  have  been  robbing  the  public. 

As  every  man  must  be  useful,  so  must  everything.  On 
the  uncle’s  possessions  there  is  no  park,  no  flower  garden; 
even  certain  parts  of  the  castle  are  turned  to  a practical 
use  not  ordinarily  found.  Vestibüle,  staircase,  and  main 
drawing-room  are  hung  with  maps  and  charts  of  all  parts 


TWUlbelm  fIDeteters  Manöerjabre  201 

of  the  world,  and  pictures  and  plans  of  the  most  important 
cities  and  their  environs. 

What  a contrast  with  the  uncle  of  Die  Lehrjahre,  who 
made  of  his  castle  a temple  of  all  the  plastic  and  graphic  arts, 
including  music,  who  spent  a fortune  in  building  a burial 
hall  and  decorating  it  in  most  exquisite  taste ! He  is  a man 
full  of  worldly  wisdom  and  human  kindness,  and  he  places 
the  highest  value  on  activity,  but  he  limits  himself  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  beautiful  and  is  satisfied  with  inciting 
others  to  activity,  though  only  such  as  accidentally  come  in 
contact  with  him.  Who  would  deny  that  this  uncle  is  a 
very  congenial  personality,  perhaps  to  many  people  the 
more  congenial  of  the  two?  But  who  would  deny,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  the  other  uncle  is  the  more  necessary  mem- 
ber  of  society?  Here  again  is  fully  shown  the  contrast 
between  the  eighteenth  Century  and  the  nineteenth.  In  the 
rush  and  struggle,  in  the  seriousness,  of  the  times,  the  beau- 
tiful personality  perishes,  but  the  useful,  public-spirited 
personality,  demanded  by  the  times  and  by  struggling, 
suffering  humanity,  arises  to  take  his  place.  The  uncle  of 
Die  Wanderjahre  does  not  fail  to  recognise  the  great  import- 
ance  of  the  beautiful ; on  the  contrary  it  is  to  him  the  crown 
of  human  existence  and  striving.  But  what  is  necessary — 
that  is,  the  useful — must  be  done  first.  Only  then  will  it  be 
possible  to  rise  to  the  beautiful.  Hence  his  motto,  posted 
conspicuously  on  his  estates:  “From  the  useful  through 

the  true  to  the  beautiful.” 

In  Die  Wanderjahre  Wilhelm  is  less  the  hero  than  the 
patient  factotum  who  is  made  to  do  everything,  read  every- 
thing,  and  connect  the  wdiole.  Düring  his  stay  at  the  castle 
of  the  uncle  he  is  made  to  read,  in  addition  to  various  cor- 
respondences,  two  stories.  Die  pilgernde  T örin  and  Wer  ist  der 
Verräter?  The  former  is  a translation  from  the  French  and 
contains  the  history  of  a beautiful  young  lady  of  good 
family,  who  has  been  deceived  by  a lover.  She  wanders 
about  in  the  world,  engages  herseif  as  a servant  where  she 
has  the  opportunity,  and  as  she  herseif  gives  up  home, 
comfort,  and  security,  and  in  this  sacrifice  and  in  her  wTork 


202 


<Ibe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


finds  peace  of  soul,  so  she  everywhere  teaches  resignation 
and  leads  others  to  resignation,  in  fact,  by  her  conduct 
forces  them  to  it.  To  fools  she  appears  foolish,  to  the  wise 
wise. 

What  moved  Goethe  to  insert  this  story  in  Die  Wander- 
jahre is  easy  to  recognise.  But  it  is  useless  to  attempt  to 
discover  any  Connection  between  the  other  story  (apparently 
not  written  tili  1810)  and  the  novel.  In  the  first  edition, 
where  it  appears  very  near  the  close  of  the  work,  it  is  read 
aloud  to  Wilhelm  by  Friedrich  under  the  pretext  that  Wil- 
helm will  thereby  be  made  acquainted  with  other  excellent 
members  of  the  confederation.  But  as  these  excellent  mem- 
bers  are  nowhere  eise  mentioned,  this  Connection  with  the 
novel  seemed  to  the  author,  when  he  was  recasting  the  work, 
too  loose  and  arbitrary.  So  he  preferred  to  give  up  the  Con- 
nection entirely  and  to  make  an  official  of  the  uncle  hand 
the  story  to  Wilhelm  simply  as  a literary  counterpart  to 
Die  pilgernde  Törin.  Wilhelm  was  to  see  in  a charming 
picture,  in  contrast  with  the  “ pleasantness  of  rieh,  aristo- 
cratic,  French  confusion” — for  the  official  was  but  a narrow- 
minded  judge  of  Die  pilgernde  Törin — “the  simple,  honest 
righteousness  of  German  conditions.” 

We  are  transported  to  the  rural  dwelling  of  a chief  farm- 
bailiff . Here  he  lives  with  his  two  daughters,  the  quiet,  soulful 
Lucinde,  and  the  vivacious,  teasing  Julie.  Since  early  life 
Julie  has  been  looked  upon  as  the  future  wife  of  Lucidor, 
the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  the  farm-bailiff,  and  it  has  been 
expected  that  Lucidor  would  become  his  father-in-law’s  suc- 
cessor  in  office.  But  when,  after  completing  his  studies  at  the 
university,  Lucidor  becomes  better  acquainted  with  the  two 
sisters,  he  likes  Lucinde  much  the  better.  To  his  despair, 
however,  she  shows  no  signs  of  retuming  his  affection,  but, 
as  it  seems,  is  about  to  become  engaged  to  another  guest  by 
the  name  of  Antoni.  Shall  he  now  marry  the  one  he  does 
not  love,  thus  fulfilling  his  father’s  most  cherished  plans 
and  securing  for  himself  a comfortable  and  respectable 
Position,  or  shall  he  sever  the  bonds  already  woven  and 
throw  himself  on  his  own  resources,  with  a deep  wound 


IKHUbelm  flDeisters  Manberjabre  203 

in  his  heart?  He  decides  in  favour  of  the  second  alterna- 
tive and  is  about  to  flee  from  the  housef  which  has  seemed 
to  him  so  cheery  and  yet  so  dismal,  without  telling  any  one 
of  his  sorrows.  Meanwhile  he  has  betrayed  himself  by  his 
passionate  soliloquies  and  has  thus  revealed  all  his  secret 
feelings  and  relations.  Julie  loves  Antoni  far  more  than 
Lucidor,  and  Lucinde  gladly  releases  Antoni  in  order  to 
be  united  with  Lucidor.  Two  happy  pairs  greet  us  at  the 
close  of  this  charming,  dramatic  story.  That  this  counter- 
part  to  Die  pilgernde  T örin  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  ideas 
of  the  novel  is  perfectly  obvious.  It  is  thrown  in  merely 
for  the  entertainment  of  the  great  mass  of  readers.31  In  a 
work  of  pure  fiction  Goethe  scomed  such  devices ; in  a didac- 
tic  work  it  was  possible  to  resort  to  them. 

Wilhelm  betook  himself  from  his  uncle’s  castle  to  Mak- 
arie’s  country-seat.  The  uncle’s  nieces,  Juliette  and  Hersilie, 
the  very  images  of  the  two  daughters  of  the  farm-bailiff, 
had  told  him  so  many  remarkable  things  about  their  aunt 
Makarie  that  he  was  glad  to  direct  his  steps  thither. 

Makarie,  the  blissful,  as  her  name  implies,  is  a height- 
ened  Natalie  and  hence  the  heightened  reverse  of  the  Beau- 
tiful  Soul.  The  contrast  comes  out  more  distinctly,  and  the 
author’s  purpose  is  easier  to  discover,  because  of  the  fact 
that,  like  the  Beautiful  Soul,  Makarie  has  from  her  youth 
up  been  very  ill.  She  is  a heavenly  being  in  both  the  lit- 
eral and  the  figurative  sense  of  the  term.  She  is  a heavenly 
body  in  a human  frame;  she  lives  the  life  of  the  solar  System, 
feels  the  motions  of  her  heavenly  sisters,  but  she  also  gazes 
into  the  innermost  nature  of  man  and  resembles  an  ancient 
sibyl,  uttering  purely  divine  words  on  things  human.  But 
all  her  wonderful  gifts  do  not  serve  the  purpose  of  enabling 
her  to  retire  into  herseif  in  blissful  repose ; she  employs  them 
to  bring  happiness  to  all  men  whom  she  can  reach.  Every- 
body  receives  her  counsel  and  her  help.  She  acts  as  a 
peacemaker  and  an  alleviator;  she  unites  men,  guides  them, 
discovers  their  possibilities,  purifies  them,  and  restores  each 
to  his  better  seif,  to  a new  and  purer  existence.  In  her 
feeble  body  there  dwells  a restless  spirit.  Its  eyes  sweep 


204 


XTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


the  whole  horizon  and  its  influence  extends  in  all  directions. 
Whoever  is  about  her  must  be  active  as  she  herseif  is.  Her 
housekeeper,  Angela,  is  “untiringly  industrious,”  day  and 
night  alike,  so  that  the  friend  of  the  house,  the  astronomer, 
suggests  that  she  might  be  called  Vigilie,  the  night  watch. 
Like  Natalie,  Makarie  always  has  in  her  home  a number 
of  young  girls  whom  she  is  educating.  Not  city  girls,  nor 
girls  from  the  upper  classes,  but  peasant  girls,  who  work 
hard  in  field  and  garden.  The  education  which  Makarie 
gives  is  considered  so  excellent  that  peasant  youths  prefer 
to  choose  their  wives  from  among  her  pupils.  The  less 
Makarie  is  able  to  check  the  decline  of  her  body,  the  more 
she  preserves  everythmg  around  her  from  decay — not  alone 
in  the  moral  and  spiritual  realm,  but  also  in  the  purely  ma- 
terial. She  lives  in  an  old  house,  but  to  Wilhelm’s  astonish- 
ment  it  seems  as  new,  complete,  and  neat  in  its  joints  and 
elaborate  omamentations  as  though  mason  and  stonecutter 
had  just  gone  away. 

And  thus,  mystical  and  supersensuous  though  the  real 
centre  of  her  nature  may  be,  nevertheless  she  everywhere 
keeps  within  the  clear,  practical  limits  of  the  novel.  She 
knows  how  to  unite  the  highest  things  and  the  most  general 
with  the  lowest  and  the  most  particular. 

How  different  the  Beautiful  Soul  was!  She  kept  within 
herseif  and  enioyed  her  peace  by  herseif.  She  devoted  all 
her  free  time  to  “ investigating  her  soul”  and  communing 
with  her  in  visible  Friend  in  prayer  and  in  fancy.  She  did 
did  not  even  feel  in  her  soul  that  charity  was  a necessary  part 
of  her  life.  She  gave  money  to  the  poor,  gave  it  gladly  and 
abundantly,  but,  as  she  confesses,  only  for  the  purpose  of 
redeeming  herseif.  “Any  one  who  wished  to  win  my  care 
had  to  be  a relative  of  mine  by  birth.”  She  did  not  trouble 
herseif  at  all  about  others.  One  had  to  experience  acciden- 
tally  the  pleasing  influence  emanating  from  her  blissful, 
peaceful  being,  for  one  would  never  experience  it  as  the 
result  of  any  effort  or  purpose  on  her  part.  Her  life  in  God 
was  centred  wholly  in  existence  beyond  the  grave;  Maka- 
rie’s  had  interests  both  this  side  the  grave  and  beyond. 


Milbelm  flDeieters  Mant>er]abre  205 

Makarie  was  like  the  sun,  which  describes  its  circle  in  the 
heavens,  but  is  constantly  sending  its  animating  rays  to 
the  earth.  The  belief  that  one  can  please  God,  can  approach 
him,  by  being  inactively  devoted  to  him,  merely  by  purity 
of  heart,  would  have  seemed  to  Makarie  a misunderstanding 
of  religion,  a failure  to  comprehend  God. 

It  was  an  emanation  of  her  starry  nature  that  she  was 
deeply  interested  in  astronomy.  Accordingly  there  was  to 
be  seen  on  her  estate  an  observatory,  presided  over  by  an 
astronomer.  After  a serious  conversation  in  the  evening 
with  Makarie  Wilhelm  is  considered  by  the  astronomer 
worthy  to  share  completely  in  the  wonders  of  the  starry 
heavens.  “ A most  serene  night,  with  all  the  stars  gleaming 
and  sparkling,  unfolded  before  his  gaze,  and  he  seemed  for 
the  first  time  to  see  the  high  dorne  of  heaven  in  its  full  splen- 
dour.”  For  in  ordinary  life  it  was  not  only  roofs  and  gables, 
forests  and  rocks,  but  also  his  inward  commotions,  that  kept 
him  from  seeing  the  sublime  glory  of  the  sky.  Here  he  is 
freed  from  these  inward  fogs  by  Makarie,  and  the  sight  over- 
whelms  him.  Blinded  and  subdued,  he  holds  his  eyes  closed. 
“ What  am  I compared  with  the  All?  How  can  I stand  be- 
fore him,  in  his  midst?  How  eise  can  man  see  his  position 
with  respect  to  the  Infinite,  than  when  he  gathers  together 
in  the  innermost  depths  of  his  soul  all  his  spiritual  powers, 
which  are  drawn  toward  many  sides ; when  he  asks  himself : 
Dost  thou  even  dare  fancy  thyself  in  the  centre  of  this  ever- 
living  Order,  unless  there  likewise  arises  within  thee  a con- 
stantly moving  something,  circling  about  a pure  central 
point  ? ’ ’ 

Involuntarily  we  think  of  the  closing  section  of  Kant’s 
Kritik  der  praktischen  Vernunft , where  we  read:  “Two 

things  fill  the  soul  with  ever  new  and  increasing  wonder  and 
awe,  the  oftener  and  longer  the  mind  reflects  upon  them: 
the  starry  heaven  above  and  the  moral  law  within.  . . . 

The  first  sight  of  an  innumerable  host  of  worlds  destroys, 
so  to  speak,  my  importance  as  an  animal  creature.  . . . 
The  second,  on  the  contrary,  enhances  my  value  as  an  in- 
telligence,  infinite  through  my  personality,  in  which  the 


206 


XTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


moral  law  reveals  to  me  a life  independent  of  animality 
and  even  of  the  whole  world  of  sense.” 

Both  Goethe  and  Kant  make  the  spiritual  in  man  pre- 
serve  his  equilibrium  with  respect  to  the  sublimity  of  the 
physical  world.  But  Kant  Starts  with  reflection,  Goethe 
with  objective  vision.  Kant  speaks  only  of  the  moral  law, 
Goethe  of  the  whole  of  human  activity,  which  has  unselfish 
love  more  than  the  categorical  imperative  at  its  centre. 
Kant  places  the  moral  law  and  the  dome  of  heaven  side  by 
side,  without  any  effect  upon  each  other.  Goethe,  on  the 
contrary,  makes  the  starry  heaven  arouse  the  consciousness 
of  the  inner  universe  (“There  is  a universe  within  thee, 
too”),  and  sets  this  world  in  rapid  motion  around  the  pure 
sun  of  human  love.  In  other  words,  he  makes  the  move- 
ments  of  the  macrocosm  call  forth  analogous  ones  in  the 
microscosm.  This  gives  us  a characteristic  picture  of 
the  difference  between  the  pantheist  and  monist  Goethe  and 
the  theist  and  dualist  Kant. 

Wilhelm  departs  from  Makarie’s  circle,  which  is  related 
to  that  of  the  uncle  as  heaven  is  to  earth.  The  two  circles 
overlap,  inasmuch  as  Makarie  strives  to  descend  from 
heaven  to  earth  and  the  uncle  to  rise  from  earth  to  heaven. 
Both  uncle  and  niece  are  represented  as  childless,  so  that  the 
simple  love  of  children  may  not  draw  them  away  from  the 
great  love  of  humanity.  At  the  moment  of  Wilhelm’s  de- 
parture  Makarie  expresses  to  him  the  desire  that  he  may  go  in 
quest  of  her  nephew  Lenardo,  who  has  been  away  on  a jour- 
ney  for  three  years,  and  calm  his  mind  conceming  the  fate 
of  a certain  girl  in  whom  he  is  interested,  so  that  he  may 
retum  home  with  liberated  heart.  This  girl  is  the  daughter 
of  a farmer,  whom  the  uncle  ejected  from  his  farm  on  account 
of  unpaid  rent  and  careless  management.  When  the  Order  of 
ejection  was  issued  the  daughter  went  to  Lenardo  and 
suppliantly  begged  him  to  intercede  for  them.  He  promised 
to  do  so  and  redeemed  his  promise,  but  not  as  eamestly  as, 
in  his  opinion,  the  occasion  demanded.  Hence  he  ascribed  to 
himself  the  blame  of  the  ejection  of  the  farmer  and  his 
daughter,  and  feit  all  the  more  downcast  as  he  feared  that 


XÄIUIbelm  flDeisters  Manberjabre 


207 


they  had  since  been  living  in  want,  and  the  charming  form 
of  the  daughter,  as  she  knelt  pleading  before  him,  had  left 
an  indelible  impression  upon  him.  On  account  of  her 
brownish  complexion  she  was  jestingly  called  the  nut-brown 
maiden,  while  her  real  name  was  Nachodine.  Goethe  doubt- 
less  attached  some  mysterious  meaning  to  this  name,  but  in 
the  course  of  the  narrative  he  abandoned  the  name  and  there- 
after  always  referred  to  her  as  “ the  beautiful,  good  girl.”  Be- 
hind  her  we  may  see  his  old  friend  Barbara  Schulthess. 

Wilhelm  meets  Lenardo,  but,  as  the  result  of  a confusion 
of  names  in  one  of  Lenardo’s  letters  to  Makarie,  the  pacifica- 
tion  which  Wilhelm  brings  proves  futile.  The  fate  of  Nacho- 
dine remains  as  much  a mystery  as  ever,  and  in  this  exigency 
Wilhelm,  following  his  usual  custom,  steps  in  as  a helper 
and  undertakes  to  find  her.  Lenardo  teils  him  to  go  to  an 
old  friend  of  his  in  a neighbouring  city,  a collector  of  antiqui- 
ties  who  enjoys  an  extensive  acquaintance,  and  perhaps  he 
may  there  find  a trace  of  the  vanished  maiden.  Wilhelm 
takes  leave  of  Lenardo  without  having  won  him  for  Lotha- 
rio’s  world  federation. 

Wilhelm  leams  nothing  at  all  about  Nachodine  from  the 
collector  of  antiquities.  Rather,  the  only  purpose  this  man 
serves  is  to  impress  upon  him  anew  certain  truths  that  he  has 
already  heard  and  observed ; with  this  difference,  that  he  ex- 
tends  the  conception  of  handieraft  to  include  all  practical 
and  proper  laying  hold  upon  things.  “All  life,  all  activity, 
all  art,”  the  old  man  teils  him,  “ must  be  preceded  by  handi- 
craft,  whieh  is  acquired  only  in  limitation.”  “ Knowing  one 
thing  well  and  practising  it  gives  higher  education  than  half- 
ness  in  a hundred  things.”  For  this  reason  he  recommends 
to  Wilhelm  as  an  educational  Institution  for  his  son  Felix, 
who  certainly  cannot  travel  about  for  ever  with  his  father, 
“the  pedagogical  province,”  where  these  principles  are  ob- 
served. He  arouses  in  Wilhelm  further  the  hope  that  the 
directors  of  that  extensive  educational  Institution  may  put 
him  on  the  track  of  Nachodine.  After  depositing  with  the 
collector  the  golden  casket  found  by  Felix,  Wilhelm  sets  out 
thither. 


208 


Zbe  Xtf e of  (Soetbe 


We  shall  leave  aside  for  the  present  the  description  of 
the  pedagogical  province,  which  opens  the  second  book  of 
Die  W ander  jahre,  and  remark  in  passing  that  Wilhelm  leaves 
the  province  without  even  asking  after  Nachodine.  In  the 
great  seriousness  of  the  pedagogical  chapters  Goethe  evi- 
dently  forgot  that  this  was  one  of  the  purposes  for  which  he 
had  made  his  hero  enter  the  pedagogical  province.  In  Order 
to  cheer  the  reader  somewhat  after  the  long  didactic  presen- 
tation  of  the  regulations  and  fundamental  principles  of  the 
pedagogical  Utopia,  he  leaves  Wilhelm  to  his  fate  for  a time 
and  inserts  a long  story,  Der  Mann  von  fünfzig  Jahren , a 
unique  cabine t-piece.  Humour,  depth  of  thought,  objec- 
tivity,  tenderness  of  feeling,  drawing-room  tone,  and  atmos- 
phere  of  nature  all  unite  in  a charming  harmony,  which 
even  the  peculiar  little  interruptions  interspersed  by  the 
poet  cannot  disturb. 

The  story  is  a treatment  of  the  theme  of  elective  affinity, 
without  tragic  outcome.  The  beautiful  Hilarie  has  fallen 
in  love  with  her  uncle,  the  major,  who  is  fifty  years  old  and 
already  retired.  She  has  been  promised  to  the  major’s 
son  Flavio,  who  is  away  from  home,  serving  as  a lieutenant 
in  a garrison.  The  major  is  not  displeased  at  the  discovery 
of  his  niece’s  warm  affection  for  him,  and  by  beautifying 
arts  takes  all  pains  to  give  his  well-preserved  appearance  a 
still  further  semblance  of  youth.  The  painful  feeling  that 
he  is  robbing  his  son  of  his  betrothed  is  soon  ccmpletely 
obliterated  by  a visit  at  the  garrison,  where  Flavio  confesses 
to  him  that  he  is  in  love  with  a young  widow,  a glorious 
creature,  whom  the  father  must  see.  The  father  consents 
and  no  sooner  do  the  two  see  each  other  than  a mutual 
attraction  begins  to  develop  between  them.  With  the  widow 
the  feeling  is  stronger  than  with  the  major.  The  major 
departs  and  the  picture  of  Hilarie  comes  again  victoriously 
into  the  foreground.  Business  reasons  compel  him  to  be 
away  for  several  months  from  the  country-seat  of  his  sister, 
and  from  the  presence  of  Hilarie. 

Meanwhile  a sudden  rupture  has  taken  place  between 
Flavio  and  the  beautiful  widow,  by  which  Flavio  is  most 


Wüftelm  flDeiötera  Wanfcerjabre  209 


deeply  affected.  Troubled  in  mind  and  broken  in  body,  he 
flees  one  dark  November  night  to  the  castle  of  his  aunt. 
A long  illness  confines  him  to  his  bed,  and  when  he  has  fully 
recovered  he  finds  himself  unexpectedly  in  love  with  Hilarie. 
The  cousin  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  a long  time,  and  who 
had  meanwhile  developed  to  full  manly  beauty,  had  also, 
at  the  first  moment  of  his  arrival,  exerted  a magic  power 
over  Hilarie.  The  two  do  not  confess  their  feelings  to  each 
other;  indeed,  they  hardly  confess  them  to  themselves, 
though  many  excursions  in  each  other’s  Company  bind  them 
closer  and  closer  together.  A skating  party  leads  them  to 
a wonderfully  vivid  realisation  of  the  irresistible  force  which 
draws  them  to  one  another,  and  at  the  same  time  brings 
about  the  catastrophe.  The  glorious  passage  may  here  be 
quoted  in  full,  if  only  to  show  what  shining  poetic  pearls 
are  to  be  found  in  the  rough  shell  of  Die  Wanderjahre. 

“ Now  to-day  our  young  couple  could  not  tear  themselves 
away  from  the  smooth  ice.  Every  time  they  skated  toward 
the  illuminated  castle,  where  many  guests  had  already 
assembled,  they  must  turn  suddenly  around  and  glide  far 
away  in  the  opposite  direction.  They  did  not  wish  to  sepa- 
rate, out  of  fear  of  losing  each  other;  so  they  clasped  hands  in 
Order  to  be  entirely  certain  of  each  other’s  presence.  They 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  motion  most  when  their  arms  were 
crossed  and  resting  on  each  other’s  shoulders  and  their  dainty 
fingers  were  unconsciously  playing  with  each  other’s  hair. 

“In  the  heaven  aglow  with  stars  rose  the  full  moon,  which 
completed  the  magic  of  the  surroundings.  They  could  see 
each  other  again  clearly  and,  as  was  their  custom,  each 
sought  to  read  an  answer  in  the  shaded  eyes  of  the  other. 
But  the  answer  seemed  to  be  a new  one.  From  the  depths 
of  those  orbs  a light  seemed  to  shine  forth  and  indicate  some- 
thing  which  the  mouth  wisely  refused  to  utter. 

“All  the  tall  willows  and  alders  along  the  ditches,  all  the 
low  bushes  on  the  hills  and  hummocks  had  become  distinct ; 
the  stars  flamed,  the  cold  had  increased,  but  they  did  not 
feel  it;  and  they  skated  up  the  long  glistening  reflection  of 
the  moon  directly  toward  that  heavenly  body  itself.  Then 


210 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


they  looked  up  and  saw  in  the  glitter  of  the  reflection  the 
forai  of  a man  swaying  to  and  fro,  who  seemed  to  be  pursuing 
his  shadow,  and  who,  though  himself  dark,  was  surrounded 
by  a splendour  of  light.  He  came  toward  them  and  invol- 
untarily  they  tumed  aside.  It  would  have  been  disagree- 
able  to  meet  any  one.  They  avoided  the  form  which  moved 
continually  toward  them.  It  did  not  seem  to  have  noticed 
them  and  was  following  its  straight  path  toward  the  castle. 
But  suddenly  it  changed  its  direction  and  circled  around 
the  almost  frightened  pair  several  times.  They  sought  with 
some  discretion  to  gain  the  shady  side  for  themselves,  and 
in  the  full  light  of  the  moon  the  man  came  toward  them, 
stopped  near  them  and  stood  still.  It  was  impossible  not  to 
recognise  Flavio’s  father.” 

The  major  saw  clearly  what  changes  had  taken  place 
during  his  absence.  He  was  ready  immediately  to  give  up 
Hilarie,  for  the  hope  of  a sweet  compensation  in  the  person 
of  the  beautiful  widow  beckoned  to  him  in  the  distance. 
But  the  happiness  of  the  men  was  thwarted  by  the  resistance 
of  Hilarie.  In  a flush  of  moral  austerity  she  declared  it 
would  be  improper,  even  criminal,  to  pass  from  the  father  to 
the  son,  and  so  we  see  at  the  close  of  this  part  of  the  story 
four  people  who  resign  themselves. 

But  the  resignation  is  only  temporary.  After  a certain 
length  of  time  Hilarie’s  austerity  is  relaxed  and  the  two  pairs 
are  found  together  as  nature  had  intended  they  should  be. 
Hence  the  story,  in  its  meaning,  is  hardly  connected  by  a 
thin  thread  with  the  great  whole.  In  a remark  preceding 
the  narrative  Goethe  says  that  the  characters  of  “this  ap- 
parently  isolated  incident  will  be  most  intimately  inter- 
woven  with  those  whom  wre  already  know”;  but  we  cannot 
agree  with  him.  On  the  contrary,  the  Connection,  which  we 
shall  later  leam,  is  so  arbitrary,  so  superficial,  so  superfluous, 
that  we  are  of  the  opinion  that  Goethe’s  only  purpose  in 
making  the  prefatory  remark  was  to  Iure  the  reader  on  and 
give  him  to  expect  that  the  charming  love  affair  would  wind 
along  through  the  whole  novel. 

After  the  breaking  off  of  the  story  we  hear  of  Wilhelm 


THUilbelm  fIDeiöterö  Manberiabre  21 1 

again.  He  has  found  Nachodine  and  she  is  in  a most  satis- 
factory  position.  But  he  conceals  her  whereabouts  from 
Lenardo  in  order  to  hinder  the  latter  from  going  in  quest 
of  her  and  endangering  her  peace  of  mind.  Then  he  decides 
to  enter  upon  a pilgrimage  to  the  home  of  Mignon.  On 
the  way  he  meets  a painter  who  has  read  Wilhelm  Meisters 
Lehrjahre  and  now  intends  to  paint  for  German  readers  the 
places  where  Mignon  lived  as  a child . In  spite  of  the  fact 
that  a considerable  space  of  time  must  have  elapsed  since 
the  close  of  Die  Lehrjahre , Marchese  Cipriani,  it  seems,  has  not 
yet  retumed  from  his  travels.  Consequently  Wilhelm  does 
not  need  to  take  possession  of  Mignon’s  inheritance,  which 
was  promised  him,  but  is  at  bottom  a very  unpleasant  thing 
for  him  to  think  about. 

There  is,  however,  a gain  awaiting  him  at  the  lake.  The 
painter  opens  his  eyes  to  the  surrounding  world  as  the  as- 
tronomer  had  opened  them  to  the  starry  world.  Then  the 
author  brings  to  him  the  two  beautiful  women  who  have 
resigned  themselves,  Hilarie  and  the  widow,  who  have  become 
friends  and  have  undertaken  for  their  consolation  a joumey 
to  Lago  Maggiore.  The  four  travellers  experience  together 
several  weeks  of  romantic  bliss,  the  main  elements  of  which 
are  painting,  boating,  singing,  and  sentimentalising,  ending 
with  a moonlight  evening  which  is  the  exact  counterpart 
of  the  evening  when  Weither  was  with  Lotte  for  the  last 
time  before  his  flight.  Here,  however,  the  ones  to  flee  are 
the  women,  who  leave  behind  a letter  in  which  they  forbid  the 
men  to  follow  them.  The  painter,  who  has  meanwhile 
conceived  a serious  affection  for  Hilarie,  is  made  worthy 
by  this  experience  to  be  received  into  the  Order  of  the 
resigned. 

Lenardo  has  received  Wilhelm’s  news  and  manfully  gives 
up  the  nut-brown  maiden.  “ Doing  without  speaking  must 
now  be  our  watchword.  . . . Longing  disappears  in  do- 
ing and  working.”  He  has  been  joyfully  welcomed  as  a com- 
rade  by  the  members  of  the  federation.  His  enj  oyment  of 
technical  affairs,  his  inclination  to  begin  at  the  beginning, 
his  longing  to  go  to  America,  and  his  possessions  there, 


212 


Zbe  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


have  especially  recommended  him.  His  property  joins  that 
of  the  federation.  The  plan  is  to  construct  through  both 
a canal,  which  will  increase  their  value  beyond  calculation. 
As  the  abbe  explains  to  Wilhelm,  it  will  be  possible  for 
Lenardo  to  carry  out  his  own  ideas  and  colonise  the  two 
banks  of  the  canal  with  Spinners  and  weavers,  masons,  car- 
penters,  and  smiths.*  At  the  same  time  the  abbe  informs 
Wilhelm  that  he  is  now  liberated  from  the  Obligation  to  stay 
no  longer  than  three  days  in  one  place.  Wilhelm  is  thus 
in  a position  to  study  surgery  as  a profession.  In  Order  to 
give  him  the  necessary  time  for  study  the  poet  makes  a pause 
of  a few  years. 

The  time  passes  by.  Whlhelm  has  become  a surgeon 
and  now  feels  it  his  duty  to  look  after  Felix.  Because  of 
his  fondness  for  horses  Felix  has  been  sent  to  the  horse- 
rearing  region  and  is  being  educated  in  horsemanship.  It 
is  apparent  that  the  romantic  ideals  of  calling  and  education 
set  forth  in  Die  Lehrjahre  have  been  thoroughly  lost  sight 
of.  Wilhelm  leaves  Felix  still  longer  with  the  pedagogues, 
as  he  himself  has  not  yet  entirely  finished  his  travels.  Dür- 
ing his  visit  to  the  pedagogical  province  he  also  takes  part  in 
a miners’  festival,  at  which  he  meets  Jarno  again,  and  where 
a spirited  debate  on  the  Vulcanist  and  the  Neptunist  theories 
takes  place.  The  eontroversy  over  the  two  geological 
theories  filled  the  poet  with  such  a passionate  interest  that 
neither  here  nor  in  Faust  could  he  refrain  from  unburdening 
his  heart  on  the  subject.  An  accident  gives  Wilhelm  an 
opportunity  to  exhibit  the  skill  that  he  has  acquired  as  a 
surgeon. 

The  second  book  closes  with  a long  letter  from  Wilhelm 
to  Natalie,  in  which  he  explains  to  her  how  he  came  to  study 
surgery,  and,  recalling  in  that  Connection  an  experience  of 
his  youth,  he  teils  the  story  of  the  drowned  fisher-boy,  a 
tragic  idyll  of  simple,  touching  beauty.  Wilhelm  is  proud 
that  he  is  now  a useful,  indeed  necessary  member  of  society; 
happy  to  be  practising  a calling  which  Jarno  has  called  the 

* Plainly  enough  we  here  see  in  Die  Wanderjahre  the  shadow  of  the  end 
of  Faust. 


Milbelm  flDeteters  Manber]abre  213 

most  divine  of  all,  because  it  permits  him  to  heal  without 
the  aid  of  miracles  and  to  perform  miracles  without  using 
words. 

With  the  third  and  last  book  we  enter  the  third  and  last 
stage  of  the  social  community.  In  the  first  stage  we  found 
a patriarchical  relation:  St.  Joseph  provides  for  his  house 

as  the  father  of  a family.  Natural,  inbom  love  binds  the 
members  together.  In  the  second  stage  we  found  the  re- 
lation one  of  enlightened  absolutism:  well-to-do  persons 
devote  their  possessions,  their  thought,  and  their  labour  to  the 
welfare  of  a wide  circle  of  people  to  whom  they  are  not 
bound  by  the  natural  ties  of  birth.  Still,  with  all  their 
love  of  man,  they  stand  in  the  relation  to  their  neighbours 
of  a ruler  to  his  subjects.  What  they  give  them  bears 
the  character  of  support  and  those  supported  bear  the  char- 
acter  of  dependents.  We  now  come  to  the  third  stage,  the 
democratic  community. 

Lenardo  has  enlisted  for  the  future  colony  in  America 
more  than  a hundred  handicraftsmen  of  all  kinds,  who  are 
meanwhile  working  under  his  direction  at  home.  But  he  is 
not  their  lord ; he  is  the  chosen  leader,  the  first  among  equals. 
Not  even  his  title  bears  any  indication  of  leadership.  In 
fact,  it  does  not  indicate  a person  at  all,  it  means  only  a 
thing.  He  is  called  “the  bond.”  Lenardo’s  only  honour 
and  duty  is  that  of  being  the  bond  of  union.  Although  he  is 
a baron  and  belongs  to  a very  old  family,  he  puts  himself  so- 
cially  on  a perfect  equality  with  the  workmen,  in  order  to 
carry  out  the  Spirit  in  which  the  union  is  conceived,  after 
the  model  of  the  future  world  federation.  He  eats  at  the 
same  table  with  them  and  after  the  day’s  work  is  done  spends 
the  evening  with  them.  He  considers  even  the  carrier  Chris- 
toph his  equal,  whereas  in  Die  Lehrjahre  the  Count  and  the 
Countess  consider  people  who  in  themselves  are  benevolent 
and  kind,  or  even  like  the  actors  are  educated  and  socially 
clever,  as  persons  far  below  their  rank,  whom,  according  to 
the  feudal  habit,  they  address  in  the  third  person,  as  though 
they  were  chattels.  And  the  actors  recognise  the  relation 
as  justified  and  vie  with  each  other  in  unworthy  servility. 


214 


Zh e %itc  of  ßoetbe 


Here,  on  the  other  hand,  the  labourer  has  awakened  to  a 
consciousness  of  his  worth.  There  is  not  the  slightest  thing 
to  indicate  that  he  does  not  feel  the  equal  in  all  things  of 
the  titled  leader.  True,  he  is  not  indebted  to  him  for  any- 
thing.  What  he  has  he  eams  by  his  own  labour.  Materi- 
ally  and  socially  he  is  a thoroughly  independent  man.  Far 
from  expecting  any  sense  of  inferiority  on  the  part  of  the 
labouring  men,  Lenardo  seeks,  rather,  in  every  way  to  in- 
crease  their  self-consciousness.  In  a significant  address  he 
gives  them  to  understand  that  they  are  more  fortunate 
than  many  an  exiled  prince  who  is  unable  to  support  himself 
by  the  labour  of  his  hands,  and  that  personal  property  which 
is  the  product  of  labour  is  far  more  valuable  than  real  pro- 
perty, which  has  for  thousands  of  years  been  considered  the 
true  source  of  national  prosperity. 

In  the  “Bond,”  as  the  whole  society  is  called,  after  the 
leader,  exemplary  discipline  prevails,  in  spite  of  all  the 
liberty  enjoyed.  The  members  are  ruled  by  the  rhythmic 
Order  of  the  songs  which  they  strike  up  at  every  exalted 
moment,  at  every  important  period  of  the  day’s  course. 
There  is  a voluntary  ad  justment  of  themselves  to  a beau- 
tiful  harmonious  whole.  From  their  songs  we  catch  the 
practical  moral  foundation  of  the  “ Bond,”  in  these  words: 

Unb  bein  Streben  fei’s  in  Siebe, 

Unb  bein  Seben  fei  bie  £at.* 

Thus  the  “Bond”  appears  to  us  as  a most  beautiful  so- 
cial picture  of  the  future.  In  his  delineation  of  the  picture 
Goethe  has  not  only  taken  account  of  the  full  consequences  of 
the  French  revolution : he  has  also,  with  wonderful  pre- 
vision,  drawn  on  the  approaching  economic  revolution.  It  is 
especially  worthy  of  note  that  the  transition  of  the  old  civi- 
lised  countries  from  agricultural  to  industrial  States,  which 
Lenardo  prophesied,  has  already  become  a reality. 

Even  the  crises  which  that  machine-and-steam-incited 
revolution  brought  in  its  train  were  not  to  be  left  unre- 

* And  let  love  control  thy  striving, 

And  thy  life  be  one  of  deeds. 


MUbelm  flDeisters  Manberjabre  215 


flected,  and  could  not  be,  in  the  sociological  novel.  We  are 
introduced  to  them  by  the  experiences  of  Lenardo  while 
enlisting  handicraftsmen  for  the  new  colony  in  America. 
For  the  industrial  undertaking  across  the  sea  he  seeks  to 
obtain,  among  others,  Spinners  and  weavers,  and  goes  for 
this  purpose  to  the  mountains.  We  recognise  Switzerland 
as  the  country  which  he  visits.  The  spinning  machine 
invented  by  Hargreaves  and  Arkwright  in  1768,  and  the 
power  loom,  invented  by  Cartwright  in  1784,  have  already 
been  in  use  for  some  time  in  England,  and  at  the  opening  of 
the  new  Century  begin  to  be  introduced  on  the  continent. 
Their  use  is  gradually  extended  tili  they  approach  the  Alps 
and  threaten  to  throw  hand-labour  out  of  employment. 
Care  stalks  about  in  the  industrious  mountain  villages.  And 
not  care  alone.  Severe  conflicts,  which  strike  deep  into  the 
emotional  life  of  the  individual  and  the  tenderest  relations 
of  the  community,  are  brought  on  by  the  approach  of  terror- 
inspiring  machinery. 

We  see  an  example  in  a family  with  which  Lenardo  Stands 
in  a specially  close  relation.  It  is  the  family  of  the  ejected 
farmer,  whom  he  unexpectedly  meets  in  his  wanderings, 
evidently  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Lake  of  Zürich.  The 
farmer  had  retired  to  that  industrial  region,  and  his  daughter 
Nachodine,  by  her  clevemess,  cordiality,  and  beauty,  had 
won  the  heart  of  the  son  of  a manufacturer,  who  employed 
a large  number  of  Spinners  and  weavers.  After  the  early 
death  of  her  husband  and  his  parents  she  assumes  the  man- 
agement of  the  business,  which  she  conducts  successfully, 
with  the  aid  of  a foreman.  The  foreman  soon  falls  in  love 
with  her  and  makes  her  a proposal  of  marriage.  She  is  not 
indisposed  to  accept  him,  but  she  cannot  agree  with  him  con- 
ceming  proposed  changes  in  the  factory.  He  considers  it 
an  unavoidable  necessity  to  introduce  new  machinery,  as 
otherwise  their  competitors  will  get  ahead  of  them  and  take 
away  their  market ; but  Nachodine,  while  she  recognises  the 
force  of  his  arguments,  cannot  find  it  in  her  heart  to  share  in 
an  enterprise  which,  by  the  employment  of  machines,  would 
rob  the  poor  Spinners  and  weavers  of  their  daily  bread  and 


2IÖ 


Zbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


cause  the  populated  valleys  to  be  deserted.  Rather  than 
do  that  she  will  seil  her  home  and  go  to  America,  where, 
free  from  such  considerations,  she  can  apply  herseif  to  the 
new  mode  of  manufacture.  The  foreman  considers  the  idea 
of  emigration  a foolish  fancy,  and  so  both  are  depressed 
in  spirit  and  their  relations  to  one  another  are  disturbed. 

Lenardo  finds  them  in  this  unharmonious  state.  The 
sight  of  “the  beautiful,  good  girl”  not  only  arouses  in  him 
the  old  feelings,  it  increases  them  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
can  hardly  refrain  from  offering  her  his  hand  at  once.  Nach- 
odine  also  feels  a genuine  affection  for  the  junker,  now  ma- 
tured  to  noble  manhood,  to  whom  she  had  once  looked  up 
from  her  oppressed  position;  whereas  her  feelings  toward 
the  foreman  had  not  gone  beyond  intellectual  admiration 
inspired  by  her  appreciation  of  his  worth.  The  foreman 
notices  the  change  that  has  taken  place  and  sorrowfully 
relinquishes  his  suit.  Lenardo  also  leaves  Nachodine  with- 
out  making  her  a definite  proposal,  as  he  does  not  know 
how  it  would  be  received. 

So  we  again  have  threp  who  resign  themselves.  Le- 
nardo overcomes  his  pain  by  determined  activity.  Wil- 
helm finds  him  at  the  head  of  the  “ Bond,”  and  by  his  side 
Baron  Friedrich,  the  wild,  frivolous  brother  of  Natalie,  who, 
never  afflicted  with  haughtiness,  is  now  filled  with  the  seri- 
ousness  of  the  time  and  of  the  aims  of  the  federation,  and 
gladly  joins  the  rank  and  file  of  the  handicraftsmen,  busying 
himself  in  many  wrays  as  a zealous  workman,  even  as  a scribe. 

The  “Bond”  is  occupied  with  the  rebuilding  of  a 
burned  town.  The  farm-bailiff  has  placed  at  their  disposal 
as  a residence  the  old,  dilapidated  castle  of  a count  in  an 
adjacent  village,  and  as  he  has  also  granted  them  other 
Privileges  the  labourers  feel  called  upon  in  tum  to  repair 
the  castle,  which  soon  affords  the  “ happy  sight  of  a dwelling 
inhabited  by  living  beings,”  and,  as  the  author  adds,  gives 
evidence  that  “ life  creates  life,  and  he  who  makes  himself 
useful  to  others  puts  them  under  the  necessity  of  making 
themselves  useful  to  him.”  According  to  this  ethics  kind- 
ness  is  viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  egoism. 


MUfoelm  flDcisters  Manber]abre  21 7 

The  evenings,  which  assemble  the  companions  for  social 
entertainment,  afford  the  author  an  opportunity  to  institute 
a kind  of  Decamerone.  The  different  ones  take  part  by 
telling  various  experiences  of  their  past  lives.  One  evening 
the  barber’s  turn  comes  and  his  experience  is  a fairy  tale, 
Die  neue  Melusine. 

This  brings  us  back  again  from  work  to  the  other  great 
motive  of  Die  Wanderjahre,  resignation.  In  no  other  part 
of  the  novel  has  Goethe  laid  so  much  emphasis  upon  this 
principle  of  life,  or  thrown  light  upon  it  from  so  many  differ- 
ent sides.  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  tale,  with  its  serious 
tendency  and  its  significant  ending,  is  painfully  out  of  place 
in  the  mouth  of  the  barber.  Originally  it  was  to  have  been 
told  by  a stranger  of  strong  character.  But  Goethe  had  his 
secret  reasons  for  the  change  and  we  shall  later  discover 
them. 

The  barber  once  met  at  an  inn  an  unusually  charming, 
rieh  lady  of  high  Station,  wTho  immediately  aroused  in  him 
a passionate  desire  to  possess  her.  His  desire  was  so  great 
that  he  unceremoniously  transgressed  all  bounds  of  pro- 
priety  and  clasped  the  beautiful  lady  in  his  arms.  She 
pushed  him  back  and  wamed  him  that  through  his  passion- 
ateness  he  was  in  danger  of  forfeiting  a good  fortune,  which 
was  very  near  him,  but  could  be  seized  only  after  he  had 
undergone  certain  trials.  “ Demand  what  thou  wilt,  angelic 
spirit,”  he  exclaimed  fervently,  he,  the  untried.  The  lady 
gave  him  the  Commission  to  journey  on  alone  with  a casket 
which  she  was  carefully  guarding,  and  to  wait  at  a certain 
place  until  she  appeared.  She  gave  him  a purse  filled  with 
gold  to  defray  the  expenses  of  his  journey.  Hardly  had  he 
arrived  in  another  town  when  the  frivolous  fellow  yielded 
to  the  allurements  of  the  gambling  table  and  lost  all  his 
money.  In  his  despair  he  threw  himself  on  the  floor  of  his 
room  and  tore  his  hair.  Then  the  beautiful  lady  appeared, 
granted  him  forgiveness,  and  gave  him  more  money,  but 
declared  that  he  must  once  more  go  out  into  the  world  all 
alone  and  that  he  should  there  be  on  his  guard  especially 
against  wine  and  women.  He  continued  his  journey  with 


2 I 8 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


the  firm  determination  to  obey  his  beloved.  But  in  the 
next  large  city  he  feil  in  with  pretty  women  and  soon  became 
engaged  in  a bloody  combat  with  a rival,  from  which  he  was 
carried  home  severely  wounded.  In  the  night  the  beautiful 
stränge  lady  suddenly  entered  his  room  and  sympathetically 
applied  a healing  balsam  to  his  wounds.  Instead  of  thanking 
her  and  showing  contrition,  he  heaped  reproaches  upon 
her,  saying  that  she  was  to  blame  for  it  all,  because  she  had 
left  him  alone.  She  bore  his  reproaches  with  composure  and 
promised  to  remain  with  him  from  that  time  on.  They  had 
not  long  been  together  when  he  caught  a glimpse  of  a beam  of 
light  issuing  from  the  casket.  Being  unable  to  control  his 
curiosity,  he  peeped  in  through  a crack  and  there  saw  his 
beloved  as  a neat  little  dwarf.  She  regretted  his  invasion 
of  her  secret,  but  expressed  her  willingness  nevertheless  to 
live  with  him  and  care  for  him  if  he  would  promise  her  to 
guard  himself  against  wine  and  anger  and  never  to  reproach 
her  with  her  dwarf’s  condition.  He  promised,  and  sealed  his 
promise  with  an  oath.  But  in  one  single  evening  he  broke  all 
three  promises.  Then  she  told  him  she  must  leave  him  for 
ever  and  retum  to  her  people.  In  the  despair  of  parting 
he  asked  whether  there  were  no  means  whereby  they  could 
further  remain  together.  She  answered  that  there  was  in- 
deed  a means,  if  he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  become  as 
small  as  she  was.  He  consented  and  through  the  power  of 
a ring,  which  she  placed  on  his  finger,  he  became  a dwarf. 

The  rest  we  know  from  the  Friederike  chapter.  Well 
as  it  went  writh  him  in  the  kingdom  of  the  dwarfs,  he  re- 
tained  the  Standard  of  his  former  size,  an  ideal  for  himself, 
which  tortured  him  and  made  him  unhappy.  He  filed  the 
ring  off  and  regained  his  former  stature.  He  now  stood  in 
the  world  of  men  as  poor  and  lonel.y  as  ever  before.  What  a 
fool ! He  had  thought  he  needed  but  to  reach  out  his  hand 
for  the  treasures  of  this  world  and  they  would  be  his.  To 
obtain  beauty,  love,  wealth,  enjoyment,  in  a word,  happy 
fortune  and  greatness,  he  had  thought  he  needed  to  make  no 
sacrifices ; either  of  liberty  or  of  independence,  either  of  good 
or  bad  habits,  of  passionate  impulses,  or  of  pams,  labour  or 


HGUlbelm  flDeiöters  THUanberiabre  219 

patience.  He  wished  to  be  master  of  one  and  all  these  things, 
and  was  not  even  master  of  himself.  He  desired  love,  fidel- 
ity,  and  devotion,  and  yet  for  the  sake  of  his  own  enjoyment 
and  his  anger  he  broke  the  most  solemn  oaths  and  violated 
the  nearest  and  most  natural  considerations.  He  fancied 
there  was  a way  to  attain  happiness  without  resignation. 

No  painful  experience  teaches  him  anything.  He  always 
seeks  to  lay  the  blame  on  others,  or  on  circumstances,  in- 
stead  of  on  himself.  It  is  only  when  the  final  stage  has  been 
reached,  when  a whole  period  of  his  life  has  vanished  into 
nothingness,  that  he  is  made  wiser  and  is  forced  to  recognise 
the  necessity  of  resignation.  And  so  at  his  reception  into  the 
“ Bond,”  through  a dash  of  humour  on  the  part  of  the  author, 
which  gives  way  immediately  to  a most  charming  and  most 
profound  seriousness,  the  barber  allows  to  be  imposed  upon 
him  the  hardest  of  all  resignations,  silence.  Only  with  the 
permission  of  Lenardo  does  he  dare  speak.  But  by  the  very 
fact  that  he  forgoes  speaking  he  develops  a far  greater  skill 
in  speaking  than  before.  Since  he  is  forced  to  carry  about 
in  silence  all  that  he  experiences,  has  heard,  and  has  seen, 
there  takes  place  within  him  a process  of  sifting,  arranging, 
and  shaping,  so  that  when  his  tongue  is  loosened  his  expe- 
riences burst  forth  as  works  of  art.  His  loss  is  converted 
into  gain,  his  punishment  into  a reward.  Resignation  brings 
about  concentration.  Concentration  increases  power.  Thus 
the  fundamental  ideas  of  Die  Wanderjahre  are  most  cleverly 
interwoven  with  the  moral  of  the  tale.  It  was  doubtless 
for  the  sake  of  this  moral  that  the  author  made  the  barber 
the  narrator  and  hero  of  the  tale. 

The  day  soon  approaches  on  which  the  “ Bond”  is  to  set 
out  for  America.  Formerly  Goethe  would  not  have  had  any 
patience  with  such  an  emigration.  He  had  energetically  con- 
troverted  the  belief  that,  in  Order  to  be  of  use  in  the  world 
and  find  suitable  employment  for  one’s  powers  one  must 
seek  out  a peculiar  and  entirely  new  and  unworked  field  of 
activity,  and  had  made  Lothario  return  from  America  cured 
of  this  delusion  and  exclaim  on  his  old  home  estate,  “ Here 
or  nowhere  is  America!”  In  1821,  a quarter  of  a Century 


220 


£be  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


after  the  publication  of  Die  Lehrjahre , the  author  still 
maintained  the  same  point  of  view  in  the  first  edition  of 
Die  W ander jahre.  Here  he  called  the  idea  of  emigration 
a whim  and  said  that  people  left  their  own  country  in  the 
hope  of  a better  condition,  but  that  their  hope  was  verg- 
otten deceptive.  No  matter  where  men  go  they  will  always 
find  themselves  in  a world  of  limitations.  Hence  the 
members  of  the  “Bond”  have  entered  into  an  agreement 
to  forgo  all  thought  of  emigration.  But  a few  years  later 
the  poet’s  views  had  materially  changed.  In  1827  he  sang: 

Slmerifa,  bit  fiaft  e$  beffcr 
311$  unfer  Kontinent,  ba$  alte, 

§a[t  feine  nerfallcne  ©djlöffer 
Unb  feine  Safalte. 

®id)  ftört  nic^t  im  Snnern 
Bu  lebenbiger  Beit 
UnmUc$  (Erinnern 
Unb  Dcrgcblicfjcr  ©trcit.* 

And  in  the  new  edition  of  Die  Wanderjahre  he  assumed 
a thoroughly  revolutionary  attitude  toward  the  old  conti- 
nent.  “ In  the  Old  World,”  he  makes  Wilhelm  say,  “ every- 
thing  moves  at  a jog  trot;  people  always  want  to  treat 
new  things  in  the  old  way  and  growing  institutions  after 
a dead  fashion.” 

For  this  reason  the  “ Bond  ” and  the  federation  will  estab- 
lish  their  new  state  nowhere  but  on  new  soil,  and  the  Amer- 
ican possessions  of  Lothario  and  Lenardo  fulfil  this 
condition  perfectly.  But  the  author  does  not  entirely 
forsake  his  old  point  of  view.  It  was  not  possible  for  him 
simply  to  throw  overboard  the  idea  which  he  had  earlier  de- 
fended  so  vigorously,  and  which  in  itself  is  correct,  that  an 

* America,  with  thee  life  ’s  better, 

Thou  ’rt  free  from  our  old  Europe’s  faults; 

Thee  no  ruined  castles  fetter, 

Cumber  no  basalts. 

No  useless  tradition. 

No  purposeless  strife, 

Hinder  the  fruition 
Of  thy  pulsing  life. 


XÄTIilbelm  fIDeisters  Wanber]afore  221 

honest  man,  if  he  strives,  can  achieve  much  that  is  good  and 
beautiful  even  in  the  Old  World.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  he  had  had  the  correctness  of  this  idea  confirmed  by 
the  American  uncle.  Hence  he  makes  only  a part  of  the 
“Bond”  emigrate  to  America,  while  the  others  come  to  the 
determination  to  remain  in  Europe.  They  owe  this  deter- 
mination  to  an  energetic  man  who  is  engaged  in  great 
colonisation  projects  in  Europe,  Odoard,  the  stadtholder 
of  a detached  province  of  a great  empire. 

Odoard  has  had  some  painful  experiences.  In  order  to 
suppress  his  hopeless  love  for  a daughter  of  the  reigning 
prince  of  his  country  he  married  the  daughter  of  the  prime 
minister.  They  lived  together  for  several  years  at  a distance 
from  the  Capital  and  were  apparently  happy.  One  day  the 
husband  discovered  the  faithlessness  of  his  wife,  and  about 
the  same  time  the  appearance  of  the  princess  fanned  the 
almost  extinct  embers  of  his  love  for  her  to  a bright  flame. 
The  narrative  is  interrupted  at  this  point  and  we  can  only 
surmise  that,  in  order  to  still  the  double  pain  brought  upon 
him,  Odoard  has  taken  up  with  all  his  energy  his  plans  for 
the  colonisation  of  the  province  put  under  his  Charge.  He 
is  apparently  guided  by  the  conviction  which  permeates 
the  federation,  and  which  Jarno  once  expressed  in  these 
words:  “Toward  the  healing  of  the  sufferings  of  the  soul 

the  understanding  can  do  nothing,  the  reason  little,  time 
much,  determined  activity  everything.”  In  a clear  and 
convincing  address  before  the  members  of  the  “Bond” — 
such  addresses  before  large  crowds  are  a very  modern 
feature  of  Die  W ander jahre — he  sets  forth  his  plans  and  the 
prospects  which  they  open,  and  in  this  way  enlists  a group 
of  labourers  for  his  province.  Staying  at  home  is  shown  in 
a still  narrower  sense  to  be  both  possible  and  advantageous. 
Some  of  the  labourers  had  entered  into  relations  with  the 
fair  daughters  of  the  village  in  which  they  were  staying. 
The  discovery  of  this  fact  led  the  shrewd  farm-bailiff  im- 
mediately  to  found  a business  enterprise.  He  formed  among 
the  peasants  and  their  future  sons-in-law,  who  were  skilled 
workmen,  an  association  for  the  erection  of  a furniture 


222 


TIbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


factory,  for  which  he  provided  the  wood  from  the  crown 
forests.  What  was  to  his  advantage  was  to  the  advantage 
of  all  the  others.  In  the  very  place  where  they  were,  and, 
in  a certain  sense,  in  the  midst  of  the  divided-up  land, 
his  happy  idea  created  for  those  who  were  ready  to  emigrate 
some  arable  land  on  which  they  could  settle  and  which  they 
could  cultivate.  From  none  of  the  settlers  was  anything 
taken.  They  kept  what  was  their  own  and  new  earnings 
came  to  them  besides.  All  these  blessings  flowed  from  the 
wonderful  power  of  labour  rightly  organised  and  guided. 

For  the  great  majority  of  the  “Bond”  permanent  work 
is  not  to  begin  tili  they  have  crossed  the  sea.  As  the  uncle 
demands  of  his  people  that  they  put  aside  on  Sunday 
everything  that  weighs  them  down,  in  Order  that  they  may 
begin  the  work  of  the  new  week  fresh  and  free,  so  the  feder- 
ation,  if  we  understand  Goethe  aright,  demands  of  its  mem- 
bers  that  they  enter  unfettered  into  the  new  community 
life  in  America.  Of  the  most  of  the  members,  especially 
of  the  men,  this  is  taken  for  granted,  but  we  have  been 
witnesses  of  the  liberating  process  in  the  case  of  the  more 
prominent  among  them,  Lothario,  Lenardo,  Friedrich, 
Wilhelm,  and  Jarno.  Through  resignation  and  labour  they 
have  become  new  men.  This  process  of  transformation 
is  not  yet  complete  in  the  case  of  two  of  the  women,  two 
former  sinners,  Philine  and  Lydie,  the  one  the  beloved  of 
Lothario  and  the  other  later  the  wife  of  Jarno.  Both  have, 
it  is  true,  honestly  endeavoured  to  atone  for  their  wrongs. 
Philine  has  become  a conscientious  wife  and  mother  and  an 
industrious  dressmaker,  Lydie  a zealous  and  careful  seam- 
stress.  But  they  are  unable  with  their  own  strength  to 
take  the  final  step  of  the  process ; they  require  the  help  of  a 
pure  human  being.  So  they  go  to  Makarie,  the  “divine,” 
who  through  the  blessing  of  her  hands  completes  in  them 
the  process  of  purification.  Now  for  the  first  time  they 
look  forward  with  joyous  hope  to  the  New  World.  And 
what  do  these  former  worshippers  of  the  idol  Frivolity  look 
forward  to  wTith  pleasure?  In  harmony  with  the  serious 
spirit  of  Die  Wanderjahre,  with  which  they  have  become 


TOUlbelm  flDeisters  TCHanfceriabre  223 

imbued,  they  anticipate  with  pleasure  the  unlimited  work 
awaiting  them  across  the  sea.  Philine’s  scissors  begin  au- 
tomatically  to  cut  the  air  when  she  thinks  of  providing 
the  new  colony  with  garments.  Lydie  sees  in  fancy  the 
number  of  her  sewing  pupils  already  growing  into  the 
hundreds  and  a whole  nation  of  housewives  taught  by  her 
to  sew  accurately  and  neatly. 

At  Makarie’s  castle  appear  further  the  major  and  the 
beautiful  widow,  and  Flavio  and  Hilarie,  but  only  for  the 
purpose  of  introducing  themselves  to  us  as  happy  pairs.  We 
are  also  told  that  Nachodine  will  soon  arrive  at  the  castle. 
She  is  to  take  the  place  of  Angela,  who  is  soon  to  be  married. 
Nachodine  has  transferred  her  business  to  the  foreman,  and 
he  has  installed  the  new  machinery,  but  without  causing  the 
harm  that  had  been  feared.  On  the  contrary,  “the  inhab- 
itants  of  the  industrious  valley  are  occupied  in  a different 
and  more  lively  way.”  In  this  point  Goethe  was  better  able 
to  see  beyond  the  immediate  future  than  were  many  of  his 
contemporaries,  better  even  than  such  a distinguished  po- 
litical  economist  as  Sismondi.  He  saw  not  merely  the 
wounds  which  the  new  machine  strikes ; he  saw  also  the  new 
productive  powers  which  it  elicits. 

When  the  “Bond”  set  out  for  the  harbour  Wilhelm 
separated  from  them  to  go  to  visit  Felix  before  starting 
across  the  sea.  He  sailed  up  a river  toward  the  pedagog- 
ical  province. 

Felix’s  education  had  meanwhile  been  finished,  and 
hardly  had  he  been  dismissed  from  the  institution  when  he 
hastened  to  Hersilie,  whose  picture  had  accompanied  him 
constantly  since  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her.  He  dis- 
covered  in  her  keeping  the  casket  which  he  had  found  in 
the  black  cave  of  giants  and  which  after  the  death  of  the  col- 
lector  had  been  brought  to  her.  She  had  also  received  the 
key  to  it.  Felix  wrested  it  from  her  by  storm  and  was 
eager  to  open  the  casket,  but  in  his  attempt  he  broke  the 
key  in  the  lock.  As  the  casket  is  a Symbol  of  life,  which 
cannot  be  taken  by  storm,  so  is  it  also  a symbol  of  Felix’s 
relation  to  Hersilie.  He  embraces  her  and  kisses  her.  Al- 


224 


Zbe  Xifc  ot  Goetbe 


though  she  cannot  help  feeling  for  him  a strong  love  in 
return,  she  pushes  him  angrily  away  and  teils  him  never 
again  to  appear  before  her.  “Then  I shall  ride  into  the 
world  tili  I die.”  He  dashes  away  on  horseback,  gallops 
across  the  plain,  fails  to  see  the  banks  of  the  river,  they 
crumble  away  and  he  falls  into  the  water. 

This  happens  just  at  the  moment  when  his  father’s  boat 
is  passing  the  spot.  Felix  is  drawn  out  of  the  water,  appar- 
ently  dead ; but  a letting  of  his  blood  brings  him  back  to  life. 
As  Jarno  had  prophesied,  the  father’s  art  of  healing  has 
performed  a miracle  without  words,  has  brought  back  the 
dead  to  life.  And  the  one  dead  is  his  own  son.  Father 
and  son,  overjoyed,  glide  down  the  stream  to  join  the  other 
emigrants  for  the  voyage  together  across  the  ocean. 

But  they  do  not  meet  Natalie,  Lothario,  Therese,  and 
the  abbe.  These  have  gone  to  America  in  advance  of  the 
rest.  Why  Goethe  should  have  made  these  persons  go 
ahead  of  the  others  seems  at  first  past  finding  out.  It  is 
most  striking  in  the  case  of  Natalie.  After  years  of  Separa- 
tion from  Wilhelm  the  thing  most  natural,  most  obvious, 
and  most  imperative,  would  have  been  for  her  to  await  his 
return  and  then  go  with  him  to  the  NewT  World.  The  novel 
öfters  no  explanation  of  her  conduct.  Perhaps  one  may  be 
found  in  life,  as  it  is  reflected  in  the  novel. 

In  the  case  of  Natalie,  as  is  evidenced  by  her  poetical 
sisters,  Iphigenia  and  Leonora  of  Este,  the  poet  had  no  other 
model  than  Frau  von  Stein.  So  long  as  she  lived  she  and 
Goethe,  with  all  their  natural  affmity  for  each  other,  were 
kept  apart  by  an  impassable  chasm.  And  it  is  in  this  way 
that  the  first  edition  of  Die  Wanderjahre  treats  their  relation. 
Wilhelm  has  an  endless  longing  for  Natalie.  On  his  wander- 
ings  he  sees  her  on  a mountain  peak  and  on  the  edge  of  a 
deep  gorge.  Through  his  field  glass  he  sees  her  fair,  pure 
figure  and  her  slender  arms  which  had  once  embraced  him 
so  sympathetically  after  his  unfortunate  trials  of  sorrow 
and  confusion.  “And  in  thine  angelic,  fond  caresses  found 
my  troubled  bosom  blessed  peace.”  She  beckons  to  him 
with  her  handkerchief.  He  reaches  out  toward  her,  but  he 


Milbelm  flDeiöterö  Manberjabre  225 

cannot,  he  dare  not  cross  over.  We  wonder  what  grey- 
haired  Frau  von  Stein  may  have  feit  when  she  read  this  pas- 
sage.  Goethe  sent  her  the  edition  on  the  2 5th  of  July,  1821, 
when  he  was  getting  ready  for  the  journey  to  Marienbad. 
He  accompanied  the  gift  with  a few  lines  in  which  we  can 
feel  the  emotion  of  his  heart:  “Dear,  esteemed  friend: 

While  the  Wanderer  again  goes  far  away,  I beg  you  to  keep 
his  picture  and  likeness  with  kind  sympathy.”  In  the 
second  edition  he  erased  the  peculiar  passage  and  excluded 
a meeting  before  they  had  crossed  the  sea;  for  meanwhile 
Frau  von  Stein  had  died.  Goethe  could  now  be  United  with 
her  only  after  they  had  both  passed  into  the  beyond.  And 
so  Wilhelm  is  not  allowed  to  see  his  Natalie  again  tili  he  has 
crossed  the  ocean.  Lothario  and  the  abbe  are  her  necessary 
companions.  One  other  thing  shows  us  the  mutual  relation 
between  Frau  von  Stein  and  the  novel.  Makarie,  as  we 
have  been  convinced,  is  a heightened  Natalie.  She  was 
lacking  in  the  novel  of  1821;  she  appeared  in  the  edition  of 
1829.  Makarie  is  “ the  sainted  one . ” 

Let  us  accompany  the  emigrants  across  the  water  and 
examine  the  Constitution  in  accordance  with  which  they 
intend  to  live  in  the  new  state.  It  is  conceived  in  the  spirit 
of  Germanic  individualism32  and  Germanic  religion,  but 
contains  apergus  of  a Constitution,  rather  than  a clearly  for- 
mulated  regime.  The  foundation  is  Christianity,  because  it 
teaches  faith,  love,  and  hope,  out  of  which  comes  forth 
patience.  Morals  arise  from  reverence  for  one’s  seif  and  are 
practically  embraced  in  the  two  commandments,  “ Be  mod- 
erate in  what  is  arbitrary”  and  “Be  diligent  in  what  is 
necessary.”  All  citizens  have  equal  rights.  They  have  a 
share  in  the  administration  of  authority  and  in  legislation, 
either  by  their  votes  or  through  representatives.  They 
choose  a supreme  authority,  which  seems  to  be  thought  of  as 
vested  in  a group  of  colleagues.33  These  move  about  every- 
where,  because  the  people  do  not  desire  a Capital  city  and 
because  in  this  way  needs  are  better  recognised  and  equality 
is  preserved  in  administration  and  in  public  life.  Equality 
is  striven  after  only  in  things  of  chief  importance,  in  secon- 


226 


£be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 


dary  matters  each  man  is  to  retain  his  liberty.  A police 
department  is  established,  but  no  judiciary,  for  the  present. 
The  members  of  the  federation  may  have  foreseen  that  for  a 
long  time  to  come  there  would  be  no  lawsuits.  The  punish- 
ment  of  crimes  rests  with  the  police,  but  only  with  the  co-op- 
eration  of  a jury.34  Brandy  shops  and  circulating  libraries 
are  not  endured.  Goethe  looked  upon  both  as  poisonous 
institutions.  Every  man  who  desired  to  be  received  into 
the  federation  must  have  some  specialty  in  which  he  is 
thorough.  Mere  Sentiment,  as  in  the  case  of  other  organisa- 
tions,  is  not  sufhcient,  especially  as  it  cannot  be  tested.  All 
are  to  be  impressed  with  the  greatest  respect  for  time  “as 
the  highest  gift  of  God  and  nature.”  To  remind  the  people 
constantly  of  the  importance  of  this  gift  clocks  are  set  up 
everywhere,  which  by  the  aid  of  the  optical  telegraph  indi- 
cate  the  hours  and  quarter-hours  throughout  the  day  and 
night.  Again  in  this  point  Goethe  showed  a wonderful 
knowledge  of  the  modern  world,  the  world  of  labour.  It 
was  he  who  told  the  disinherited  that  time  was  their  great 
inheritance : 

Wein  (Erbteil  roie  fyerrlid),  roeit  unb  breit! 

Tie  3eit  ift  mein  ÜBefijj,  mein  Slcfer  ift  bic  Seit.* 

This  couplet  appeared  as  a motto  to  the  first  edition  of  the 
novel.  “It  is  better  to  do  the  idlest  thing  in  the  world 
than  to  sit  idle  for  half  an  hour,”  is  one  of  the  morals  that 
Goethe  copied  from  Sterne  in  the  Betrachtungen  im  Sinne 
der  Wanderer,  f But  greater  than  making  the  most  of  time 
is  the  blessing  of  time.  Odoard  sings  loud  the  praise  of 
time  as  the  mightiest  lever  of  progress.  What  all  his  per- 
suasion  was  unable  to  do,  time  accomplished.  “ Time 
makes  spirits  free  and  gives  them  a wider  Outlook.  In  a 

* How  lordly  my  heritage,  how  great! 

For  time  is  my  possession,  time  my  vast  estate. 

“ Mein  Acker  ist  die  Zeit  ” was  one  of  Goethe’s  old  maxims.  In  a let- 
ter  of  the  2öth  of  April,  1797,  to  Fritz  von  Stein  he  says:  “I  confess 
that  my  old  Symbol  is  becoming  more  and  more  important  to  me : * tem- 
pus  divitiae  meae,  tempus  ager  meus.’  ” 
t Cf.  Sprüche  in  Prosa,  No.  500. — C. 


Milbe  Im  HDeisters  Manfcerjabre  227 


broadened  heart  the  higher  advantage  crowds  out  the  lower. 
Time  takes  the  place  of  reason.”  Cronos  steps  again  into 
the  place  of  Zeus.  Or,  better  still,  they  are  united.  Reason 
lies  in  development.  By  organising  itself  into  a state 
according  to  these  fundamental  ideas  and  laws,  at  the  same 
time  attracting  to  itself  and  assisting  on  both  sides  of  the 
water  all  who  are  like-minded  with  them,  and  further  by 
making  its  state  a model,  an  inspiring  example  for  other 
States  and  communities  embracing  millions  of  inhabitants, 
the  federation  comes  nearer  and  nearer  to  its  aim  of  broaden- 
ing  itself  to  a world  federation  and  practising  world  piety. 
“We  do  not  wish  to  withdraw  from  home  piety  the  praise 
that  is  due  it  . . . , but  it  is  no  longer  sufficient.  We 
must  grasp  the  idea  of  a world  piety,  must  bring  our  honest 
human  sentiments  into  a practical  relation  with  a wider 
sphere,  and  not  only  help  our  neighbours  to  make  progress, 
but  include  at  the  same  time  the  whole  of  humanity.” 

The  poet  took  one  more  thing  into  consideration.  For 
the  new  society  and  the  new  state  new  men  were  needed.  In 
his  own  ministerial  office  he  had  observed  with  great  sorrow 
how  hard  it  is  to  carry  out  reforms,  to  say  nothing  of  reor- 
ganisations,  without  new  men.  On  the  2 ist  of  September, 
1780,  he  wrote  complainingly  to  Frau  von  Stein:  “In  civil 

matters,  where  everything  goes  on  in  a settled  order,  it  is 
impossible  either  to  hasten  especially  the  good  or  to  remove 
any  particular  evil;  they  all  have  to  go  together,  just  as  the 
black  and  white  sheep  of  one  flock  go  into  the  fold  and  out 
again  together.  And  even  for  the  little  that  could  be  done 
there  is  a lack  of  men,  new  men,  who  would  do  what  is 
proper  without  making  mistakes.”  Nothing  but  a new 
education  can  provide  these  new  men. 

Ever  since  Rousseau’s  Emile  (1762)  a great  many  of  the 
leading  minds  everywhere,  and  especially  in  Germany,  had 
studied  the  problem  of  creating  new  men  by  means  of  a new 
education.  Rousseau’s  command,  back  to  nature  and  let 
nature  have  her  way,  a good  thing  in  itself,  had  kindled  a 
mighty  flame.  But  it  indicated  a way  rather  than  an  aim. 
And  there  was  room  for  difference  of  opinion  concerning 


228 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


the  way,  even  though  one  approved  his  point  of  departure. 
Nevertheless  men  believed  they  had  a method  that  would 
answer  the  purpose  in  his  direction  back  to  nature.  So 
they  devoted  their  chief  attention  to  the  working  out  of  the 
aim.  The  enthusiasm  for  things  Greek  newly  awakened 
by  Winckelmann  set  up  as  the  aim  of  all  education  the 
Greek  ideal  of  the  creation  of  a man  morally  good  and  beau- 
tifully  developed  physically  and  spiritually.  This  ideal 
was  defended  in  manifold  ways  by  Wieland,  Herder,  young 
Goethe,  Schiller,  Friedrich  August  Wolf,  Jean  Paul,  and 
many  other  prominent  men  of  the  classical  period.  But  of 
the  triangulär  pyramid  of  the  ideal  education  it  was  in 
reality  almost  always  the  spiritual  side  alone,  the  general, 
comprehensive  education,  that  attracted  attention.  This 
resulted  in  partial  atrophy  of  virtue,  will  power,  and  body, 
and  in  inadequate  preparation  for  the  special  calling  which 
one  had  to  fulfil.  What  was  gained  amounted  to  little 
more  than  beautiful  dilettanteism  in  all  possible  arts  and 
Sciences.  Even  men  of  such  rieh  spiritual  and  material 
endowments  as  Goethe  could  strive  toward  the  Winckel- 
mannian  ideal  of  education  only  temporarily  and  that  not 
without  danger.  And  who  was  to  help  the  overwhelm- 
ing  majority? 

For  them  there  arose  another  teacher,  the  greatest  of 
modern  times,  Johann  Heinrich  Pestalozzi.  His  educational 
plan  for  the  regeneration  of  mankind  was  based  neither  on 
theories,  nor  on  enthusiasm  for  a dreamed-of  natural  condi- 
tion or  a dreamed-of  ideal  Greek  condition,  nor  on  Observa- 
tion of  the  corrupt,  artificial  upper  dass  of  society,  but  on 
just  the  opposite  of  these  things.  It  was  based  on  life,  on 
reality,  on  observation  of  the  distress,  the  misery,  and  the 
generally  neglected  condition  of  the  great  mass  of  the  people. 
Education  for  work  by  means  of  work  was  the  watchword 
of  his  pedagogy,  which  has  justly  been  called  social  peda- 
gogy.  Man  must  be  made  capable  of  bettering  his  own 
condition.  To  this  end  he  must  be  properly  prepared  for 
his  future  calling.  Hence  serious,  strict  training  for  a 
calling  must  precede  word  instruction  or  at  least  accompany 


nailbelm  ffteiöters  “Manberlabre  229 

it.  The  calling  in  life  of  most  men  consists  in  practical  work. 
While  one  is  preparing  man  for  such  work  by  means  of  dili- 
gent  activity  in  agriculture,  housekeeping,  or  some  com- 
mercial  industry,  one  is  training  not  only  his  hands,  but 
also  his  head  and  character.  One  is  leading  him  to  “ a clear, 
firm  knowledge  of  his  nearest  and  most  essential  relations 
and  to  a firm  realisation  of  his  power.”  One  is  teaching 
him  to  be  public-spirited  and  submissive,  for  he  learns  to 
work  with  others.  Beside  making  him  true,  simple,  and 
strong,  one  is  leaving  him  innocent,  because  one  shields  him 
from  such  evils  as  “ the  humbugs  and  presumptions,  the 
idle  pretentions  and  thousandfold  confusions,  of  verbal 
teachings  and  opinions.”  In  this  way  one  can  achieve, 
along  with  an  education  for  a calling,  a general  human  edu- 
cation,  and  one  can  promote  virtue  by  paving  the  way  for 
prosperity. 

Düring  the  mature  years  of  his  life  Goethe  stood  on  the 
ground  of  this  program,  the  details  of  which  Pestalozzi  him- 
self  had  neither  fully  nor  clearly  worked  out,  and  the  main 
principles  of  which  Fichte  in  1807  sought  with  fiery  zeal 
to  apply  to  German  conditions,  in  order  by  means  of  national 
education  to  save  Germany  from  destruction  under  foreign 
rule.  Guided  by  experience  and  observation,  both  of  him- 
self  and  others,  men  of  age  and  minors,  among  the  latter 
Fritz  von  Stein,  whose  education  had  been  left  to  him,  Goethe 
had  gradually  receded  from  the  Winckelmannian  ideal  in 
the  form  which  it  assumed  in  edueational  practice;  he  had 
given  up,  as  Pestalozzi  harshly  expressed  it,  “the  delusion 
of  creating  a golden  age  by  means  of  boasted  muchness  of 
knowledge.”  Pestalozzi,  with  whom  he  had  become  per- 
sonally  acquainted  in  1775,  had  made  a powerful  appeal  to 
him,  the  more  powerful  since  to  the  reformer  it  seemed  as 
though  the  poet’s  tremendous  power  were  tuming  in  a 
selfish  Promethean  direction,  away  from  filial-mindedness 
toward  God  and  hence  from  fatherly-mindedness  toward 
suffering  humanity.  In  his  first  .writing,  Abendstunde  eines 
Einsiedlers  (May,  1780),  he  had  called  out  to  Goethe:  “Out- 
ward and  inward  majesty  of  man,  achieved  along  the  pure 


230 


Gbe  %\U  of  Goetbe 


path  of  nature,  is  understanding  and  fatherly-mindedness 
toward  lower  powers  and  talents.  Man,  in  thy  majesty, 
weigh  the  use  of  thy  powers  according  to  this  Standard: 
fatherly-mindedness  of  high  powers  toward  the  weak,  un- 
developed  herd  of  humanity.  0 prince  in  thy  majesty! 
0 Goethe  in  thy  power!  Is  that  not  thy  duty,  0 Goethe, 
since  thy  path  is  not  wholly  nature?  Forbearance  toward 
weakness,  fatherly-mindedness,  fatherly  purpose,  fatherly 
sacrifice,  in  the  use  of  one’s  powers, — that  is  pure  majesty  of 
mankind.  O Goethe,  in  thy  majesty,  I look  up  to  thee  from 
my  lowliness,  I tremble,  keep  silent,  and  sigh.  Thy  power 
is  like  the  impulse  of  great  rulers,  who  sacrifice  the  national 
blessing  of  millions  to  the  glory  of  the  empire.” 

How  Pestalozzi  was  deceived  in  Goethe!  What  he  at 
that  time  desired  was  already  active  in  Goethe’s  soul,  or 
was  prepared  for  active  employment  and  waited  only  for 
an  opportunity  to  manifest  itself,  though  the  manifestation 
was  different  from  that  which  Pestalozzi  had  in  mind. 
Even  in  the  special  field  of  education  Goethe  had  come  very 
near  the  Swiss  reformer,  and  came  still  nearer  him  during 
the  succeeding  years.  In  Die  Lehrjahre  we  have  seen  the 
completion  of  the  process  of  his  turning  away  from  the 
educational  ideal  of  Winckelmann  to  that  of  Pestalozzi. 

Having  once  taken  up  these  pedagogical  ideas  in  Die 
Lehrjahre,  Goethe  continued  to  elaborate  them  in  his  mind 
and,  after  they  had  made  their  way  through  Die  Wahlver- 
wandtschaften, they  found  their  full  symbolic  and  direct 
expression  in  Die  Wanderjahre.  Goethe  has  not  made  it 
easy  for  us  to  obtain  a clear  picture  of  all  the  details  of  his 
educational  plan  as  it  is  represented  in  “the  pedagogical 
province.”  He  perhaps  did  not  think  it  over  hirnseif  in  all 
its  parts,  in  all  directions,  and  in  all  its  consequences. 
And  so,  speaking  through  the  mouth  of  Lenardo,  he  says 
that  it  is  a series  of  ideas,  reflections,  proposals,  and  pur- 
poses,  which  would  go  well  together,  it  is  true,  but  might 
hardly  ever  be  found  together  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
events.  He  was  satisfied  with  throwing  out  suggestions, 
but  these  suggestions  are  characterised  by  such  depth  that 


XÄßUbelm  fIDeteters  THIlanfcetjabre  231 

men  will  be  able  to  draw  on  them  for  a long  time  to  come. 
His  educational  System,  like  those  of  Pestalozzi  and  Fichte, 
is  intended  for  all,  poor  and  rieh,  indeed  more  for  the  former 
than  the  latter.  As  the  majority  of  the  population  belong 
in  the  country  the  callings  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  country 
must  be  cultivated  above  all,  and,  moreover,  as  the  power 
of  the  educational  System  can  be  unfolded  only  outside  the 
parental  home,  the  boys  are  taken — Goethe  says  nothing 
about  the  girls — to  the  great  public  educational  institution 
which,  as  in  Fichte’s  plan,  embraces  a wide  territory:  low- 
land,  highland,  hilly  country,  cultivated  land,  meadow 
land,  and  forest.  To  this  territory  Goethe  gives  the  name 
“ pedagogical  province.”  To  the  pedagogues  of  Die  Wander- 
jahre natural  education  means  first  of  all  individual  educa- 
tion.  For  this  reason  the  development  of  the  individuality 
is  allowed  as  much  liberty  as  possible,  in  fact  it  is  lent  as- 
sistance.  Not  even  in  matters  of  dress  does  the  individual 
need  to  conceal  his  peculiarities — quite  a contrast  to  the 
principles  of  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften.  The  pupils  are 
carefully  observed  in  order  that  their  individualities  may 
be  studied.  When  a decided  inclination  toward  a certain 
calling  has  been  discovered  the  pupil  is  educated  in  ac- 
cordance  with  this  inclination.  But  whereas  in  the  choice 
of  a calling  heed  is  paid  to  his  inclination,  in  his  education 
for  the  chosen  calling  the  pupil  is  obliged  to  obey  fixed  laws. 
This  is  particularly  true  where  one  would  least  expect  it, 
viz.,  in  the  education  for  an  artistic  calling.  In  this  Con- 
nection the  remarkable  observation  is  made  that  genius 
is  most  willing  to  show  obedience,  because  it  quickly  grasps 
the  use  of  it.  “ It  is  only  the  mediocre  who  would  like  to 
put  their  limited  peculiarities  in  the  place  of  the  unlimited 
whole,  and  to  excuse  their  blunders  under  the  plea  of 
insuperable  originality  and  independence.  But  we  do  not 
accept  any  such  excuses.  On  the  contrary,  we  guard  our 
pupils  against  all  missteps  whereby  a large  part  of  life, 
in  fact  often  the  whole  life,  is  thrown  into  confusion  and 
disruption.”  As  in  Fichte’s  System,  all  pupils  seem  to  have 
to  take  one  course,  that  of  farming.  At  least  Felix  is  sent 


232 


Zbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


to  this  department  without  question.  It  was  doubtless 
because  of  the  healthfulness  of  the  occupation,  the  oppor- 
tunities  of  instruction  which  it  affords — here  a large  part 
of  the  descriptive  Sciences  is  leamed  incidentally — and 
because  of  the  pleasure  which  young  people  as  a rule  take 
in  such  work,  that  Goethe  introduced  this  arrangement. 
It  corresponds  also  to  the  view  of  Pestalozzi,  that  “the 
cultivation  of  the  fields  is  the  most  general,  the  most  com- 
prehensive,  and  the  purest  foundation  for  the  education  of 
the  people.”  After  the  agricultural  course  the  pupils  are 
given  special  training  according  to  their  various  callings. 
In  the  instruction  offered  them  this  specialisation  is  carried 
out  as  far  as  possible,  out  of  consideration  for  the  individu- 
ality  as  well  as  for  the  principle  that  the  best  results  are 
obtained  by  limitation,  whereas  a multiplicity  of  subjects 
may  lead  to  distraction  and  dabbling. 

This  principle  is  not  carried  out  as  rigidly  as  with  the 
uncle,  whose  watchword  is  “ Always  but  one  thing.”  Other- 
wise  an  education  would  require  too  long  a time.  Further- 
more  the  point  of  view  that  variety  stimulates  must  not  be 
lost  sight  of.  They  seek  accordingly  to  combine  with  a 
practical  subject  one  or  two  that  are  theoretical.  For 
example,  with  instruction  in  herding  and  breaking  horses 
is  grouped  instruction  in  the  living  languages.  Whether 
any  instruction  in  the  dead  languages  is  offered  we  are  not 
told.  The  living  languages  are  taught  in  a living  way,  in 
accordance  with  the  principle  that  one  leams  nothing  out- 
side  the  element  which  is  to  be  mastered.  This  living 
method  of  teaching  is  made  possible  by  the  fact  that  pupils 
of  the  chief  nations  are  brought  together  in  the  horse-rearing 
region,  where  each  of  their  languages  in  tum  is  spoken  ex- 
elusively  for  a whole  month.  The  pupil  receives  at  the 
same  time  grammatical  instruction  in  the  particular  language 
which  he  desires  to  learn  more  thoroughly.  There  are 
special  teachers  for  this  purpose  and  they  live  with  their 
pupils  all  the  time,  so  that,  though  pedants  are  not  wholly 
wanting  among  their  number,  these  “riding  grammarians” 
are  not  to  be  distinguished  from  their  centaur  pupils. 


Wilhelm  freiste  vs  Wanberjabre  233 

The  scientific  instruction  is  given  in  immediate  Connection 
with  practice  in  the  particular  calling,  for  “activity  of 
life  and  efficiency  are  far  more  compatible  with  satisfactory 
instruction  than  is  commonly  supposed.”  Here  it  is  given 
during  the  quiet  hours  of  herding. 

Instruction  in  the  elementary  subjects  is  necessarily 
co-ordinated  with  the  course  in  agriculture,  which  all  the 
pupils  are  obliged  to  take.  These  subjects  are  singing, 
writing,  reading,  and  arithmetic,  and  one  must  think  of 
them  as  taught  not  simultaneously,  but  in  echelons.  The 
greatest  importance  is  attached  to  singing  by  note,  which 
is  considered  the  best  means  of  refreshment,  discipline,  and 
instruction.  Instruction  is  imparted,  by  making  the  pu- 
pils write  their  own  notes.  As  the  children  are  taught  to 
write  on  the  blackboard  the  signs  representing  the  tones 
which  they  produce,  and  to  reproduce  the  tones  according 
to  these  signs,  then  to  add  the  words  below,  they  practise 
hand,  ear,  and  eye  at  the  same  time  and  learn  more  quickly 
to  write  accurately  and  neatly.  Then,  as  everything  has 
to  be  executed  and  copied  according  to  definitely  fixed 
numbers,  they  learn  much  more  rapidly  the  value  of  the 
art  of  measurement  and  computation.  Singing  is  also  made 
the  means  of  impressing  upon  the  pupils  the  moral  and 
religious  teaching  which  they  receive.  In  addition  to  this 
every  activity  and  every  amusement  is  accompanied  by  song. 

While  vocal  music  is  taught  with  the  elementary  sub- 
jects, and  hence  is  included  in  the  agricultural  group,  in- 
strumental music  is  accorded  special  attention  and  placed 
in  a separate  department.  It  is  a Professional  study  and 
with  it  is  grouped  instruction  in  lyric  poetry  and  dancing. 
A further  department  is  devoted  to  the  plastic  and  graphic 
arts,  with  which  is  combined  instruction  in  epic  poetry. 
Dramatic  art,  on  the  other  hand,  to  our  surprise  is  placed 
on  an  equality  with  theatrical  art,  and  is  wanting  in  the 
curriculum  of  the  pedagogical  province.  There  is  a lack 
both  of  actors,  because  the  inhabitants  of  the  province  have 
become  through  education  too  true  to  represent  anything 
which  they  themselves  are  not,  and  of  an  audience,  because 


234 


£be  Xife  of  Goetbe 


in  the  province  there  is  no  idle  crowd.  Besides,  the  ped- 
agogues  think  that  the  theatre  ruins  the  sister  arts.  Hence 
it  is  excluded,  as  it  is  from  Plato’s  state.  Along  with  the 
students  of  the  plastic  arts  are  educated  the  apprentices 
of  the  building  trades.  This  association  is  supposed  to 
honour  them  and  edify  them.  In  his  province  Odoard 
intends  to  declare  at  the  outset  that  the  handicrafts  are 
strictly  arts.  Whereas  everywhere  eise  singing  is  heard 
while  the  pupils  are  at  work,  in  this  region  deep  silence  pre- 
vails.  The  work  occupies  the  whole  man.  Songs  are 
heard  only  during  the  intervals  of  rest.  Even  the  feasts 
which  are  celebrated  in  the  other  departments  are  wanting 
here.  The  disciples  of  art  have  no  need  of  them.  “ To  the 
plastic  artist  the  whole  year  is  a feast,”  is  the  beautiful  and 
profound  reason  assigned. 

Of  the  other  callings  for  which  the  pedagogical  province 
prepares  the  only  one  mentioned  is  mining,  so  that  not  a 
few  practical  and  theoretical  branches  of  instruction  are 
wanting.  But  it  is  easy  to  make  the  practical  application 
of  what  is  given  to  what  is  wanting.  We  know  the  System: 
it  combines  training  for  a particular  calling  with  scientific 
instruction,  takes  individual  inclination  into  consideration, 
lays  special  stress  on  the  laws  underlying  everything  done 
and  everything  learned,  beside  paying  attention  to  many 
smaller  details.  And  that  is  enough.  Although  one  can 
see  how  this  System  might  be  differently  carried  out,  still 
we  may  say  in  its  favour  that  it  develops  hand,  eye,  and 
head  of  the  pupils  in  a way  that  is  natural  and  answers 
the  purpose,  and  that  it  gives  a good  preparation  for  the 
place  they  are  to  fill  in  life. 

But  is  this  all?  Will  it  make  the  new  men  whom  the 
new  age  demands?  Is  there  not  also  need  of  the  elevation 
of  the  moral  powers?  The  casually  mentioned  instruction 
in  certain  religious  and  moral  doctrines  is  something,  but 
not  enough.  History  has  fully  demonstrated  that.  A 
peculiar  supplementary  training  must  be  given,  which  will 
consecrate  man  to  a new  higher  existence,  which  will  rid 
him  entirely  of  his  animality  and  make  him  truly  a man  of 


Wilhelm  flDeisters  Wanberjabre  235 

reason,  a homo  sapiens,  and  which  will  make  him  conscious 
of  his  exalted  godlikeness. 

This  need  of  supplementary  training  is  met  by  the  Crea- 
tion of  an  invisible  church,  in  which  the  pupil  constantly 
moves  about.  This  invisible  church  arises  from  the  awaken- 
ing  of  reverence.  All  higher  religions  have  endeavoured  to 
solve  this  problem,  but  none  has  solved  it  completely. 
Therefore  the  pupil  must  pass  through  them  all.  On  the 
lowest  stage  stand  the  heathen  or  ethnic  religions,  the 
highest  type  of  which  is  the  Jewish,  which  is  based  on 
reverence  for  what  is  above  us.  The  second  is  based  on 
reverence  for  what  is  on  an  equality  with  us.  It  is  called 
philosophical  religion,  because  the  philosopher  draws  every- 
thing  higher  down  to  his  plane  and  elevates  everything  lower 
to  his  plane,  that  is,  he  puts  everything  on  an  equal  plane 
with  himself.  The  third  is  the  Christian  religion,  which  is 
based  on  reverence  for  what  is  below  us,  that  is,  reverence 
for  misery,  dishonour,  suffering,  and  death.  It  is  the  last 
stage  to  which  mankind  has  been  able  to  attain.  It  takes  all 
three  of  these  stages  of  reverence  together  to  produce  the 
highest  stage,  reverence  for  one’s  seif,  just  as  they  in  tum 
have  developed  out  of  this. 3 5 That  is  to  say,  reverence  for 
ourselves  is  reverence  for  the  divine  in  us.  At  first  we  per- 
ceive  the  divine  in  us  only  as  an  indistinct  feeling,  which 
impels  us  to  seek  a divine  something  outside  ourselves, 
recognise  it,  and  adore  it.  If,  however,  by  rising  one  Step  at 
a time  through  the  various  religions  of  reverence,  we  have 
recognised  that  everything  outside  ourselves,  the  high  as 
well  as  the  low,  is  permeated  by  God,  we  have  in  so  doing 
recognised  the  divine  in  ourselves  and  are  thus  led  to  adore 
it.  The  indistinct  feeling  of  the  divine  in  us  has  developed 
into  clear  consciousness.  According  to  this  method  of 
reasoning,  as  the  author  says,  man  may  consider  himself 
the  best  creature  that  God  and  nature  have  brought  forth 
and  may  continue  to  occupy  this  high  standpoint  without 
being  drawn  down  again  to  the  common  level  by  vanity 
and  selfishness. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  Goethe  makes  his  pantheism  lend 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


236 

itself  to  the  production  of  the  highest  moral  effects.  It 
makes  no  particular  difference  if  his  graduated  System  is 
artificial,  and  is  neither  historically  nor  logically  above 
criticism.  If,  for  example,  philosophical  religion  produces 
reverence  for  everything  on  an  equality  with  us,  and  puts 
the  lower  things  on  an  equality  with  us  by  raising  them  to 
our  plane,  it  thereby  awakens  reverence  for  what  is  below 
us  and  its  scope  is  made  to  include  the  scope  of  the  Christian 
religion.  Goethe  himself  falls  into  this  and  other  in- 
consistencies  in  the  pedagogical  application  of  his  religious 
philosophy,  as  we  shall  soon  see. 

How  are  the  pupils  introduced  to  this  religion  of  rever- 
ence? Are  the  history,  so  far  as  any  exists,  and  the  sig- 
nificance,  of  this  religion  impressed  upon  them  by  direct 
instruction  ? The  history  probably  is,  but  the  significance 
is  not.  Such  a thing  would  be  inadvisable  both  because 
of  the  pupils’  undeveloped  power  of  comprehension  and 
because  of  the  fact  that  when  the  significance  of  anything 
profound  is  revealed  to  people  clearly  and  frankly  they 
believe  that  there  is  nothing  behind  it.  Hence  the  “peda- 
gogues”  employ  the  method  of  teaching  by  Suggestion  and 
use  symbolic  object  lessons  as  the  means  best  adapted  to  their 
purpose.  These  lessons  are  enveloped  with  a solemn  at- 
mosphere.  They  are  given  only  in  the  “ sanctuaries,”  which 
are  erected  in  a valley  forest  surrounded  by  high  walls. 
About  an  octagonal  hall  are  arranged  three  galleries  adomed 
with  pictures.  In  the  chief  pictures  of  the  first  gallery  are 
represented  events  from  the  history  of  the  Israelites,  and 
in  the  less  important  ones  events  of  like  significance  from 
the  history  of  other  nations,  particularly  the  Greeks.  To 
this  gallery  the  pupils  are  admitted  from  their  first  year 
on.  For  the  paintings  of  the  second  gallery  the  subject 
chosen  is  the  life  of  Christ,  exclusive  of  his  passion.  The 
representation  is  limited  to  miracles  and  parables,  as  it  is 
only  through  these  that  the  deep  significance  of  his  life 
can  be  shown.  This  series  of  pictures  is  made  to  serve  as  an 
illustration  of  philosophical  religion  by  asserting  of  Christ 
that  he  appeared  in  his  life  as  a philosopher,  putting  the 


TKHilbelm  fIDeteters  HÜlanfcerjabte  23  7 

lowest  and  highest  things  on  an  equality  with  himself,  apo- 
theosising  the  lowest  things  and  humanising  the  highest. 
To  this  gallery  only  the  more  mature  pupils  are  admitted. 
The  last  gallery,  which  is  devoted  to  the  passion  and  death 
of  Christ,  and  hence  to  the  Christian  religion  in  the  nar- 
rower  sense,  is  opened  but  once  a year,  and  then  only  for 
the  pupils  who  are  graduated.  It  is  the  sanctuary  of  pain, 
the  too  early  or  too  frequent  sight  of  which  might  fail 
to  produce,  or  might  deaden,  the  awe-inspiring  impression 
it  is  intended  to  leave.  An  introduction  to  the  fourth 
religion,  that  of  reverence  for  one’s  seif,  is  superfluous,  as  it 
grows  out  of  the  others  of  itself. 

The  “pedagogues”  do  not  yet  consider  their  full  duty 
performed.  They  have  a second  and  third  way  of  elevating 
their  pupils  to  the  different  stages  of  reverence.  The  second 
is  mentioned  but  briefly.  Düring  the  instruction  in  the  for- 
mative  arts,  we  are  told,  the  three  stages  of  reverence  are 
introduced  and  emphasised,  as  everywhere  eise,  though 
with  some  Variation  in  the  method  to  suit  the  nature  of  the 
work  in  hand.  The  third  way  is,  like  the  first,  symbolic 
and  suggestive,  but  with  this  difference,  that  it  is  intended  to 
imbue  the  minds  of  youth  daily  and  hourly,  instead  of  now 
and  then,  with  the  principles  and  practical  workings  of  the 
religion  of  reverence.  It  is  applied  in  their  Salutes.  The 
youngest  pupils  salute  their  superiors  by  Crossing  their  arms 
over  their  breasts  and  looking  up  at  the  sky,  as  a sign  that 
above  them  is  a God,  who  is  reflected  and  revealed  to  them 
in  parents,  teachers,  and  those  in  authority.  The  inter- 
mediate  pupils  salute  by  folding  their  hands,  as  though 
bound,  behind  their  backs  and  looking  down  at  the  ground 
with  a smile,  as  a sign  that  the  earth  is  for  us  a source  of 
inexpressible  joys  and  sorrows.  Here,  in  contradiction 
with  the  fundamental  philosophy  of  religion,  but  with 
logical  correctness,  the  Christian  religion  is  put  second, 
which  leads  to  a further  contradiction,  in  that  veneration 
of  joy  is  made  its  substance.  This  style  of  salute  is  not 
imposed  upon  the  pupil  for  very  long.  Then  he  is  called 
upon  to  man  himself.  He  is  to  come  into  the  fold  of  philo- 


238 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


sophical  religion.  He  now  salutes  by  taking  his  place  in  the 
rank  and  file  of  his  comrades  and  keeping  his  eyes  on  them. 
Selfish  Segregation  has  ceased.  His  companions  are  con- 
stantly  before  his  eyes  and  he  is  determined  from  now  on 
to  act  only  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  others  or  in  union  with 
them.  He  has  become  a social  nature.  He  is  worthy  to 
enter  life.  Since  as  a sacred  mystery  the  meaning  of  the 
gestures  is  only  partially  revealed  to  the  pupils  the  youths 
themselves  attach  to  them  a most  profound  significance, 
which  bears  good  fruit. 

Two  great  advantages  that  accrue  to  the  pupils  from 
their  education  in  the  pedagogical  province  are  not  specially 
mentioned.  Through  much  work  in  the  open  air  and  with 
their  hands  they  become  and  remain  healthy,  and  through 
their  extensive  occupation  with  real  things  they  become 
objective.  Both  these  aims  seemed  to  Goethe  of  the  utmost 
importance.  He  complained  bitterly  that  the  young  people 
were  being  ruined  both  spiritually  and  physically  by  too 
much  theoretical  instruction.  And  if  they  did  not  feel 
well  themselves  how  could  they  be  expected  to  feel  and  act 
kindly  toward  others?  In  the  education  of  young  Fritz 
von  Stein  his  chief  aim  was,  as  he  confessed  to  Schiller,  to 
make  the  boy  “very  objective.” 

Since  the  pupil  is  being  specially  trained  for  his  calling 
he  acquires  early  in  life  a feeling  of  assurance  and  the 
ability  to  do  things.  The  consciousness  of  this  ability  to 
do  things,  together  with  a feeling  of  healthiness,  an  appro- 
priate  freedom  of  life,  the  beautification  of  each  day’s  course 
by  songs  and  games,  all  this  must  afford  the  pupil  a high 
degree  of  happiness,  one  of  the  fairest  gifts  of  life.  Thus 
education  in  the  pedagogical  province  is  designed  to  make 
full,  whole,  harmonious  men  in  a way  entirely  different  from 
any  ever  dreamed  of  by  the  neo-humanists.  If  we  assume 
that  the  results  correspond  to  the  aims,  we  see  issuing  from 
this  province  young  men  who  are  clear-headed,  well-prepared 
and  know  what  they  want  to  do,  and  who  in  addition  are 
healthy,  truthful,  respectful,  and  happy, — men  who  are  able 
in  useful  activity,  in  truth  and  beauty,  to  usher  in  a new  life. 


HttUlbelm  ffl>eiöters  Wanberjabre  239 

Die  Wanderjahre  leaves  with  us  about  such  an  impression 
as  would  a great  factory  in  a most  romantic  mountain  glen. 
We  hear  the  whir  of  spinnin  g wheel  and  the  rattle  of  loom, 
we  see  the  motion  of  trowel  and  hatchet,  plane  and  spade, 
and  at  the  same  time  we  look  up  to  the  stars  and  the  divine, 
down  to  the  broad  fruitful  valleys  of  the  earth,  and  into 
the  depths  of  the  human  heart — a wonderful  mixture  of 
the  matter-of-fact,  the  practical,  and  the  earthly,  with  the 
ideal,  the  prophetic,  and  the  superhuman.  The  novel  reflects 
life  as  it  should  be,  but  rarely  is,  paying  heed  to  the  demands 
of  the  day  and  those  of  etemity,  usefulness  and  morality, 
individuality  and  mankind  in  general.  Taken  as  a whole 
it  is  a call  to  sensible,  active  life,  a glorification  of  labour. 
“ A fiery  spirit  breathed  upon  me,  awakening  me  to  activity,” 
said  one  of  the  few  who  perceived  some  of  the  rustling 
among  the  leaves  of  the  novel.  Upon  the  foundation  laid 
in  Die  Lehrjahre  is  built  the  superstructure  in  Die  Wander- 
jahre. Activity  was  restricted  in  meaning  by  the  poet, 
as  it  is  by  us  in  ordinary  usage,  to  productive,  useful  work. 
In  Order  to  perform  such  work  man  needs  thorough  know- 
ledge  of  a special  subject.  This  special  knowledge  is  gained 
by  limitation  to  a small  field.  Limitation  is  demanded  also 
by  our  powers.  We  are  not  gods.  “Unlimited  activity 
leads  in  the  end  to  bankruptcy.”  He  who  would  limit 
himself  must  practise  resignation.  Useful  work  demands, 
further,  thoughtfulness,  and  perseverance.  Again  these 
qualities  are  acquired  only  by  resignation,  by  conquering 
our  passions,  which  obscure  our  vision  and  lead  us  astray. 
Finally  we  need  to  unite  with  others  in  order  to  perform 
most  kinds  of  work.  If  this  union  is  to  be  realised  and 
maintained  we  must  adapt  ourselves  to  others  by  limiting 
ourselves  and  practising  resignation. 

The  working  man  is  the  man  who  fits  his  action  to  his 
purpose.  Only  by  such  action  do  we  win  a place  for  our- 
selves in  life.  For  this  reason  Goethe  considered  entrance 
into  real  life  inconceivable  without  resignation  in  the  exalted 
sense  in  which  he  employed  the  term.  For  fruitful  labour 
each  of  the  above-mentioned  kinds  of  resignation  is  of  the 


240 


£be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 


highest  importance.  But  the  coming  age  demanded  one 
kind  of  resignation  above  all  others, — that  which  lies  in 
limitation.  The  farther  progress  was  made  by  economic 
development  toward  the  division  of  labour,  the  more  it 
became  impossible  to  perform  profitable  labour  except  by 
specialisation.  And  more  than  that:  the  more  time  hast- 
ened  forward  on  the  wings  of  steam,  the  greater  became  the 
need  of  quick,  vigorous  action. 

Superior  performances  and  energetic  action  were  there- 
fore  the  first  prerequisites  of  the  new  age.  But  where  were 
the  people  who  satisfied  these  demands?  In  the  great 
masses?  There  necessity  had  brought  about  limitation  and 
had  called  forth  skill  and  perseverance.  But  with  their 
thoroughness  and  energy  they  lacke d the  education  to  lead 
their  skill  and  vigour  to  higher  aims  and  keep  them  abreast 
of  the  mighty  progress  of  modern  times.  Hence  the  working 
people  had  to  look  to  the  educated  classes  for  leaders.  Here 
the  prospect  was  not  hopeful.  These  classes  were  still  as 
Goethe  had  known  them  in  his  youth  and  in  later  years. 
The  spirits  of  a lower  order  were  easy-going,  egoistic,  and 
diffident,  while  those  of  a higher  order,  not  without  serious 
fault  on  the  part  of  the  state,  still  delighted  to  swim  about 
in  the  shoreless  waters  of  philosophy  and  esthetics.  The 
man  of  this  dass  applied  neither  diligence  nor  energy  to  the 
special  calling  which  he  pursued.  He  looked  upon  his  work 
as  a necessary  evil  which  hindered  the  flight  of  his  thoughts, 
disturbed  the  tendemess  of  his  feelings,  and  detracted  from 
the  beauty  of  his  personality.  From  this  living  in  thoughts 
and  feelings,  from  this  cult  of  beautiful  personality,  there 
resulted  a serious  weakening  of  the  power  of  the  will,  which 
was  not  cured  by  the  wars  of  liberation,  because  the  state 
quickly  drove  the  individual  back  to  his  narrow,  quiet, 
private  sphere.  The  educated  men  of  Germany  at  the 
time  when  this  novel  assumed  its  final  form  were  very  well 
able,  as  they  had  been  in  former  days,  to  obtain  a clever 
grasp  of  things,  to  ponder  over,  rave  over,  sigh  over,  or 
deride,  the  affairs  of  this  world,  but  it  was  not  in  their  power 
to  act  aggressively  or  force  their  way  forward  with  stubbom 


Wilhelm  flDeisterö  Wanfcerjabre  241 

tenacity  in  a definite  calling  along  a definite  path.  Gustav 
Freytag,  a faithful  and  thorough  observer  of  the  various 
phases  of  development  among  the  German  people,  has  well 
said  of  the  educated  of  the  period  from  1815  to  1830:  “ Even 
the  better  dass  among  them  found  it  easy  to  talk  with  clev- 
emess conceming  the  greatest  variety  of  things,  but  very 
hard  to  limit  themselves  to  consistent  action.”  And  Hegel, 
who  could  see  deep  into  the  soul  of  this  better  dass,  speaking 
as  a Contemporary,  said,  in  his  Grundlinien  der  Philosophie 
des  Rechts  (1820) : “The  reason  of  this  hesitation  [in  decision 
and  action]  lies  also  in  a tendemess  of  the  soul,  which  knows 
that  in  the  definite  it  is  dealing  with  the  finite,  is  putting  a 
limit  upon  itself,  and  is  giving  up  the  infinite;  but  it  is  un- 
willing  to  forgo  the  totality  at  which  it  aims.”  Between 
his  own  frame  of  mind  and  such  a state  of  indolence  Goethe 
feit  that  there  was  a very  sharp  contrast.  Nothing  could 
show  this  contrast  more  drastically  than  two  entries  side 
by  side  in  his  grandson  Walther’s  album.  Somebody  had 
copied  into  the  album  that  tarne,  blase,  supposedly  witty 
utterance  in  which  Jean  Paul  had  made  a casual  attempt 
to  sum  up  his  view  of  life : “ Man  has  two  minutes  and  a half : 
one  minute  to  smile  in,  one  to  sigh  in,  and  a half  minute 
to  love  in;  for  in  the  middle  of  the  third  minute  he  dies.” 
On  the  following  page  Goethe  wrote  the  stanch  reply : 

3f)rer  fed^ig  f)at  bie  Stunbe, 

Über  tau[enb  f)at  ber  £ag; 

@öf)nd)en,  trerbe  T)ir  bie  $utibe, 

2Ba§  man  aHe§  leiffen  mag  ! * 

In  addition  to  their  shrinking  from  concentration  and 
determined  action  the  educated  classes  were  wanting  in  a 
third  essential.  While  on  general  principles  they  were 
disinclined  to  work  in  a fixed  calling,  they  feit  a special 
aversion  for  practical  work,  particularly  the  trades.  They 
looked  down  upon  these  with  the  same  superciliousness 

* Sixty  minutes  hath  the  hour, 

O’er  a thousand  hath  the  day; 

Think,  my  son,  with  time’s  vast  power 
All  that  one  accomplish  may! 


VOL.  III. — 16 


242 


£be  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


that  the  ruling  classes  had  in  ancient  Greece.  The  edu- 
cated  middle  dass  shared  this  feeling  of  contempt  with  the 
nobles,  who  otherwise  performed  their  share  of  work  in  the 
practical  callings  of  agriculture,  administrative  government, 
and  Service  in  the  army.  Nobody  saw  more  clearly  than 
Goethe  that  the  reigning  star  of  the  Corning  age  would 
be  industrial  labour.  Hence  if  the  men  of  the  nobility 
and  the  middle  dass  did  not  tum  to  the  industrial  arts  they 
were  certain  to  lose  the  leadership  of  the  common  people,  and 
Germany  was  certain  to  be  left  behind  in  the  competition 
of  nations,  especially  by  England  and  America,  where  con- 
ditions  were  different.  And  more  than  this.  Industrial 
labour  was  congregating  more  and  more  in  factories,  which 
naturally  resulted  in  the  Organisation  of  the  labouring 
classes.  If,  as  was  inevitable,  these  organised  masses  went 
one  step  further  and  became  conscious  of  their  importance 
in  the  modern  world,  it  was  certain  that  the  hitherto  un- 
seen  chasm  between  the  upper  classes  and  the  lower  would 
burst  upon  the  sight  with  all  its  threatening  dangers. 

Goethe  sought  in  Die  Wanderjahre  to  anticipate  the 
many  dangers  arising  from  a want  of  limitation,  energy, 
and  appreciation  of  labour  with  the  hands.  Through  the 
picture  in  which  he  made  aristocratic  noblemen  and  finely 
educated  men  of  the  middle  dass  join  the  society  of  handi- 
craftsmen,  he  sounded  a serious  waming;  and  he  sounded  a 
still  more  serious  one  in  his  words,  written  with  Propagandist 
emphasis  and  exaggeration,  in  praise  of  one-sidedness, 
specialisation,  handicraft,  and  action.  Everything  said  by 
the  individual  characters  in  Die  Wanderjahre,  that  shows  a 
leaning  in  this  direction,  is  Goethe’s  own  private  view. 
We  have  already  pointed  this  out  in  not  a few  passages. 
Let  us  here  Supplement  the  list  with  a fewr  more  utterances : 
“ Nowadays  the  world  forces  a general  education  on  us,  so 
that  we  do  not  need  to  trouble  ourselves  about  that;  it  is 
the  special  education  that  we  must  acquire.”  “Whoever 
from  now  on  does  not  apply  himself  to  one  art  or  one  handi- 
craft will  be  in  a sad  plight.  Leaming  no  longer  succeeds 
in  the  swift  progress  of  the  wrorld ; by  the  time  one  has  taken 


TKHUbelm  flDeisters  Manfcerjabre  243 

notice  of  everything  one  is  completely  lost  ” (Aus  Makariens 
Archiv).  “ If  one  could  teach  the  Germans  to  acquire  less 
philosophy  and  more  energy,  less  theory  and  more  practice, 
after  the  model  of  the  English,  it  would  go  a long  way  toward 
our  salvation”  (to  Eckermann,  March  12,  1828).  It  is  in 
accordance  with  these  views  that  education  is  shaped  in 
the  pedagogical  province.  Goethe  has  been  accused  of 
being  a quietist,  but  nobody  has  ever  made  a stronger  plea 
for  activity  than  he  did.  He  has  been  suspected  of  being 
an  aristocrat,  but  nobody  was  more  democratic  than  he  at 
the  very  time  when  the  complaints  were  loudest.  He  has 
been  criticised  as  wanting  in  patriotism,  but  nobody  was 
more  solicitous  than  he  of  the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  the 
fatherland. 

With  the  division  of  labour,  with  the  bringing  about  of 
closer  relations  between  nations  through  the  agency  of 
steam,  and  with  the  gigantic  growth  of  the  demand  for 
raw  materials  and  manufactures  from  every  nation  on 
the  globe,  men  were  made  to  feel  their  dependence  on  one 
another  more  than  ever  before.  No  labourer  could  help 
realising  that  the  individual  was  no  longer  sufficient  unto 
himself,  and  that  he  needed  others  for  the  success  of  his 
labour.  Goethe  rejoiced  in  this  knowledge,  but  he  desired 
that  with  purely  intellectual  knowledge  of  the  economic 
organism,  with  insight  into  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from 
it,  should  be  combined  a moral  need,  so  that  where  the 
understanding  no  longer  sufficed  to  compel  the  individual 
to  look  beyond  himself,  moral  need  should  enter  in  as  an 
auxiliary  force.  For  it  was  with  him  a life  task  to  lead 
the  German  out  of  his  individual  life,  his  egoistic  existence, 
out  of  his  self-satisfaction  and  self-enjoyment,  into  a public, 
social  life,  into  work  for  others.  In  this  regard  the  German 
had  retrograded  considerably  in  the  seventeenth  and  eight- 
eenth  centuries,  because  he  had  been  excluded  from  public 
life  by  absolutism.  We  to-day  have  hardly  any  conception 
how  conscious  men  were  of  themselves  as  individuals  and 
private  persons,  and  we  are  astonished  when  we  read  what 
Wilhelm  says  of  his  father,  “ He  was  at  that  time  one  of 


244 


ftbe  Xife  of  0oetbe 


the  first  men  who  was  led  by  broad  public-spiritedness  to 
exercise  any  thought  or  care  beyond  his  family  and  the 
city  in  which  he  resided.”  And  yet  that  is  a faithful  and 
acctirate  reflection  of  the  time.  Even  at  the  end  of  the  third 
decade  of  the  nineteenth  Century  conditions  were  but  little 
better.  The  causes  had  not  yet  been  removed,  and  so  the 
results  still  continued.  In  January,  1831,  Hitzig  wrote  from 
the  greatest  city  of  Germany  to  Carlyle,  “ The  German  has 
always  lived  more  for  his  family  than  for  the  public,  and 
still  continues  unalterably  so  to  live,  in  spite  of  the  events 
of  1830.”  The  esthetic  tea  was  the  public  into  which  the 
educated  classes  ventured  forth  to  spend  their  energy.  In 
this  absorption  in  private  life  we  find  the  explanation  of 
the  fact  that  men  looked  upon  the  state  as  something  hostile, 
and  that  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt,  in  1792  and  1819,  desired 
to  confine  the  ränge  of  governmental  activity  to  the  nar- 
rowest  limits,  the  affording  of  security. 

This  view  was  combated  in  the  new  Century7  by  Fichte 
and  Hegel  with  special  cleamess,  directness,  and  power. 
Both  supported  the  thesis  that  the  reasonable  will  of  man- 
kind  is  fully  objectified  only  in  the  state ; that  the  state,  in 
so  far  as  it  is  “ reasonable,”  instead  of  hindering  the  develop- 
ment of  the  individual,  is  the  very  means  that  makes  it 
possible  for  the  individual  to  develop  his  true  nature ; that 
it  is  not  the  intention  that  freedom  shall  be  coerced  by  the 
state,  but  that  “the  violence  of  an  unruly  nature  shall  be 
subjugated  by  freedom.”  This  corresponded  entirely  to 
Goethe’s  views,  and  hence  in  his  pedagogy  he  made  respect 
for  the  law  and  adaptation  to  the  whole  important  elements 
of  education.  He  would  have  the  individual  early  broken  of 
the  habit  of  Consulting  only  himself,  his  own  will,  and  his 
own  comfort.  But  while  the  aim  of  Fichte  and  Hegel,  in 
their  fight  against  individualism,  was  chiefly  political, 
Goethe’s  aim  was  chiefly  social.  That  an  individual  was 
interested  in  the  welfare  of  the  state  did  not  necessarily 
mean  that  he  was  interested  in  the  social  well-being  of 
others.  A recognition  of  the  importance  of  public  authority 
did  not  help  to  alleviate  the  condition  of  those  who  were 


Mtlbelm  flDeisters  Wlanberlabre  245 

without  property.  Nor  was  it  enough  that  the  importancc 
of  labour  was  appreciated  and  that  men  of  means  joined 
with  labourers  in  common  activity.  There  was  further 
need  of  moral  impulses  forcing  the  man  of  large  property  to 
resignation,  prompting  him  to  make  sacrifices  from  his 
possessions  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  were  without  pos- 
sessions,  and  to  consider  his  property  common  property, 
the  conscientious  management  of  which  had  been  intrusted 
to  him.  But  for  the  man  without  property  there  arises 
also  the  duty  of  making  himself  a social  man.  No  man  is 
so  small  and  weak  that  he  cannot  help  another.  Each  man 
should  consider  the  larger  and  smaller  Community  in  which 
he  lives  not  only  as  a political  and  an  economic  community, 
but  also  as  a moral  community.  Out  of  such  a community 
grow  demands  which  include  far  more  than  the  material 
condition  of  the  individual.  The  whole  moral  and  spiritual 
existence  of  our  fellow-men,  which  is  not  satisfied  by  daily 
bread,  is  laid  upon  our  consciences. 

In  order  to  enter  into  this  relation  it  is  necessary  for 
man,  according  to  the  wise  poet’s  advice,  to  seek  the  divine 
in  himself.  Whoever  finds  it  in  himself  finds  it  in  every 
other  man,  and  as  he  thereby  makes  himself  a sacred  being, 
becomes  for  himself  an  object  of  reverence,  so  every  other 
man  becomes  for  him  a sacred  being,  an  object  of  reverence, 
even  the  sinner.  He  avoids  wounding  the  sinner,  strives 
to  extend  to  him  a gentle,  loving  hand  of  help,  and  is  willing 
to  make  personal  sacrifices  to  assist  him,  even  to  overcome 
the  sin  which  weighs  him  down.  The  man  with  such  Senti- 
ments is  the  truly  pious  and  pure  man,  the  social  and  broth- 
erly  man  in  the  highest  sense.  The  fundamental  motive 
of  Iphigenie  is  thus  seen  to  be  repeated  in  the  novel,  as 
the  character  of  Iphigenia  herseif  is  in  the  figure  of  Makarie. 
This  social  man  in  the  highest  sense  is  the  only  man  worthy 
of  the  title  “beautiful  personality,”  which  the  eighteenth 
Century  sought  to  produce  by  means  of  a general  education 
in  Science  and  art,  and  at  times  even  in  the  ways  of  the 
World.  This  ideal  of  personality  based  on  moral  action 
shows  pleasing  lines,  in  the  limitations  of  reality,  much  more 


246 


£be  Xlfe  of  Goetbe 


rarely  than  does  the  old  ideal,  but  it  is  a higher  ideal,  it  is 
truer,  and  it  is  infinitely  nr  re  fruitful.  In  view  of  the 
stupendous  increase  of  the  material  powers  of  man  there  was 
need  of  an  elevation  of  the  moral  nature,  if  this  increase 
was  to  prove  a blessing.  The  elevation  is  achieved  by 
means  of  public  spirit  arising  out  of  reverence. 

For  this  heightened  humanity  there  is  no  longer  any 
world  dulness,  which  makes  men  live,  labour,  and  enjoy 
for  themselves  alone ; no  longer  any  world  wToe,  wdiich  makes 
them  consume  their  strength  in  lamentations  and  sadness; 
nor  is  there  any  more  fleeing  from  the  world,  that  striving 
to  gain  peace  by  devotional  contemplation  and  the  giving 
of  alms ; there  is  only  world  piety,  which  calls  men  to  endless, 
joyous  work  for  the  world.  “And  let  love  control  thy 
striving,  and  thy  life  be  one  of  deeds.” 

We  hear  the  ringing  of  the  bells  in  Faust. 


FAUST 


Faust  Goethe’s  life-work — The  theme — Unconscious  work  on  the  drama — 
Seeking  after  God — The  puppet  play  of  Doktor  Faust — Correspond- 
ences  between  its  motives  and  Goethe’s  experiences — Beginning 
of  conscious  work  on  the  drama — Scenes  probably  written  first 
and  probable  Order  in  which  they  were  written — Goethe’s  willing- 
ness  to  read  portions  of  the  work  to  friends — The  Urfaust — Further 
work  on  the  drama — The  Fragment  of  1790 — Comparison  between 
it  and  the  Urfaust — Composition  again  resumed  at  Schiller ’s 
urging — Completed  First  Part  published  in  1808 — Influence  of 
Byron’s  death  on  composition  of  Second  Part — The  Helena  pub- 
lished in  1827 — Further  work  lightened  by  enthusiasm  over  idea 
of  completing  Second  Part — Fragment  of  the  first  act  published 
in  1828 — The  drama  finished  July  22,  1831,  but  not  published 
tili  after  the  poet’s  death — The  historical  Faust — The  first 
Faust  book — Marlowe’s  Faustus — Faust  motives  in  the  sixteenth 
Century — Similar  motives  in  the  period  of  Goethe’s  youth — 
Analysis  and  criticism  of  the  Fragment  of  1790:  Faust’s  first  mono- 
logue,  the  macrocosm,  the  Earth-Spirit,  conversation  with  Wagner, 
Mephistopheles,  his  relation  to  the  Earth-Spirit,  the  humorous 
devil  and  his  function  in  the  drama,  Mephistopheles  and  the 
Student,  “Auerbach’s  Cellar,”  “Witches’  Kitchen,”  first  scenes 
of  the  Gretchen  tragedy,  Faust’s  confession  of  faith,  the  closing 
scene  in  the  cathedral — The  Gretchen  tragedy  not  finished  in  the 
Fragment — Analysis  and  criticism  of  what  the  complete  edition  of 
1808  contained  more  than  the  Fragment:  the  close  of  the  Gretchen 
tragedy,  Valentine,  “Walpurgis  Night,”  “Walpurgis  Night’s 
Dream,”  “Dismal  Day,”  “Night,  Open  Field,”  “Prison,”  end 
of  the  First  Part,  Goethe’s  change  of  style,  Faust  now  a symbolical 
character,  distinction  between  the  symbolical  and  the  allegorical, 
the  philosophical  element  in  Faust  and  the  difficulty  it  gave 
Goethe,  “Prelude  on  the  Stage,”  “Prologue  in  Heaven,”  the 
mystery  of  evil  in  the  world,  the  wager  between  the  Lord  and 
the  devil,  the  problem  of  Faust’s  Salvation,  Faust’s  second  mono- 
logue,  Easter  chimes,  youthful  remembrances,  “Before  the  City 
Gate,”  Faust’s  third  monologue,  the  exorcism  of  Mephistopheles, 

247 


248 


£be  %\f c of  (Soetbe 


the  devil  goes  away  and  then  comes  again,  Faust’s  curses,  chorus 
of  spirits,  compact  and  wager  between  Faust  and  Mephistopheles — 
From  the  little  world  to  the  great — Difficulty  of  the  transition  for 
Goethe — Analysis  and  criticism  of  the  Second  Part : Opening  scene, 
the  Emperor’s  Court,  the  paper  money  scheme,  the  masquerade, 
the  “mothers,”  Helena  conjured  up,  the  second  act,  Homuncu- 
lus,  the  Baccalaureus,  “ Classical  Walpurgis  Night,”  the  Helena  act, 
its  significance,  the  fourth  act,  the  fifth  act,  Care,  Faust  leams 
self-limitation,  the  supreme  moment,  Faust’s  death,  the  contest 
over  his  soul  at  the  grave,  he  is  saved,  his  ascension,  unsatisfactori- 
ness  of  the  ending — Closing  criticism  of  the  Second  Part  and  the 
whole  drama — Faust  a universal  human  type — What  the  drama 
may  mean  to  us. 

FAUST  was  the  life-work  of  the  poet,  extending  from 
the  first  mutterings  of  the  storm  that  raged  through 
the  breast  of  the  youth  to  the  serene  days  of  old 
age,  when  hardly  a gentle  zephyr  was  wafted  through  the 
peaceful  world  of  his  spirit.  Conscious  work  on  the  poem 
began  in  the  days  of  the  seething  fermentation  of  the  Stras- 
burg Storm  and  Stress,  but  the  unconscious  had  begun  with 
the  sprouting  and  growth  of  the  germinal  idea  in  the  dream- 
like  gropings  and  longings  of  childhood.  If  wTe  were  to 
state  the  original,  fundamental  theme  of  Faust , we  should 
say  that  it  is  the  attempt  of  the  great  man  to  comprehend 
God  and  by  means  of  this  comprehension  to  know  the  world 
and  lead  in  it  a life  worth  living,  a life  filled  with  God  and 
pleasing  to  God  in  the  highest  sense. 

Out  of  the  most  beautiful  specimens  of  his  father’s  Col- 
lection of  minerals  the  child  builds  an  altar,  and  makes 
the  first  rays  of  the  moming  sun  ignite  the  incense  tapers 
upon  it,  in  Order,  through  the  symbol  of  the  rising  smoke, 
to  show  how  his  “soul  longs  to  mount  up  to  the  Creator/’ 
The  boy  flees  into  the  darkness  of  the  forest,  and  desires 
to  inclose  with  a hedge  a solemn  glade  surrounded  by  old 
beeches  and  oaks,  and  set  it  apart  as  a sacred  grove,  where 
he  may  devote  himself  to  God,  undisturbed  by  the  noise 
of  the  day  and  the  restless  bustle  of  men.  Indeed,  through- 
out  his  whole  life  “an  incomprehensible  longing“  offen 
drives  him  out  into  pure,  free  nature,  where,  “while  a 
thousand  tears  are  burning,  ” a new,  divine  world  is  awak- 


249 


faust 

ened  within  him.  And  if  the  setting  sun  again  and  again 
draws  him  with  magic  power,  and  he  cannot  behold  the 
spectacle  often  enough  to  satisfy  him,  this  is  but  the  feebly 
conscious  yearning  of  the  musing  child’s  soul  for  the  high 
ancestral  spheres. 

The  innocent  years  of  childhood  pass.  Reflection  asserts 
itself,  and  the  understanding  subjects  the  world  to  its 
overwise  criticism.  The  dissolution  of  naive  belief,  sup- 
ported  by  the  rationalistic  light  of  Leipsic,  drives  away 
the  beautiful  darkness  in  which  the  boy  had  feit  himself 
one  with  God.  Thus  for  the  youth  God  vanishes  from  the 
world.  Outside,  beyond  the  borde rs  of  the  world,  there 
may  be  enthroned  an  inaccessible  God,  but  he  is  not  in  the 
world.  He  may  at  some  time  in  the  past  have  built  it  as 
an  ingenious  machine,  but  he  left  it  then  to  its  own  works 
and  wheels.  The  world  is  as  one  sees  it,  and  the  young 
Student  takes  it  as  it  is.  Like  others  of  the  time,  he  is 
tossed  back  and  forth  by  pleasures,  deprivations,  and  dis- 
appointments,  and  has  many  bad  hours  and  many  moods. 
Not  until  his  last  Semester,  when  he  is  confined  to  his  bed 
with  illness,  is  there  again  aroused  within  him,  under  the 
guidance  of  his  theological  friend  Langer,  a yearning  and 
seeking  after  God ; and  this  is  continued  in  his  Frankfort 
sick-room  under  the  influence  of  his  physician  and  the 
pious  friend  of  the  family  Fräulein  von  Klettenberg.  He 
begins  to  divine  that  God  is  not  outside  the  world,  but, 
rather,  wholly  within  it. 

This  gives  him  a new  foundation.  If  God  is  wholly  in 
this  world  it  must  be  possible  to  grasp  him  somewhere. 
It  must  be  possible  for  one  to  get  on  the  track  of  his  nature 
and  reign  and  to  find  the  w7ay  from  faith  to  knowledge  and 
from  knowledge  to  the  bliss  of  sharing  in  his  secrets.  Now 
God  is  certainly,  above  everything  eise,  the  original  source 
of  life.  Hence  one  will  most  quickly  learn  to  knowT  him 
by  knowing  the  “sources  of  life.”  The  youth’s  Faustian 
desire  is  therefore  centred  on  these  springs,  these  “ mothers  ” 
of  life.  He  works  zealously  at  his  wind  furnace  with  alem- 
bics  and  retorts,  in  order  to  produce  a virgin  earth  and 


250 


Gbe  Xife  of  0oetbe 


watch  its  progress  to  motherhood.  In  harmony  with  this 
ardent  striving  he  writes  (September  17,  1769)  these  lines 
frcm  Wieland  in  his  friend  Langer’s  album: 

3a,  ©ötterluft  fann  einen  Dürft  nicfjt  fcfyroädjen, 

Den  mtr  bie  Duelle  ftiüt.* 

To  which  he  adds,  “ So  feels  in  all  seriousness  your  friend 
Goethe.  ” 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  goes  in  April,  1770,  to  Stras- 
burg, where  by  accumulation  of  leaming  and  by  experi- 
ments — alchemy  is  still  his  beloved — he  seeks  to  get  a 
comprehensive  grasp  of  God.  Here  through  the  medi- 
ation  of  Herder  the  clouds  vanish  before  his  eyes.  His 
clarified  vision  discovers  that  nature  does  not  allow  her 
secrets  to  be  forced  from  her  by  levers  and  screws,  but  that 
for  the  open  mind  they  are  everywhere  visible,  and  most 
plainly  where  he  has  hitherto  least  sought  them,  in  art. 
Shakespeare,  Ervinus  a Steinbach,  Raphael,  Moses,  Homer, 
and  Ossian  are  illuminated  by  the  light  of  God  and  mirror 
his  light  in  their  works — Shakespeare  even  more  than  the 
others;  “He  is  the  confidant  of  God”;  he  sees  the  secrets 
of  the  human  world  with  the  eyes  of  God  and  utters  them 
with  divine  mouth.  Hence  the  God-seeking  youth  Stands 
before  his  works  as  “before  the  open  book  of  fate.”  In 
their  presence  he  feels  “his  existence  infinitely  broadened,” 
his  own  “seif  broadened  into  the  seif  of  the  world.”  Be- 
yond  all  doubt  it  was  a god  who  wrote  these  signs. 

How  did  it  happen  that  Shakespeare  and  those  like 
him  could  see  through  the  secrets  of  the  world  ? The  divine 
is  revealed  to  nobody  directly.  Thus  much  the  youth  had 
also  learned.  True,  a specially  gifted,  receptive  eye  is 
necessary,  but  the  eye  must  seek  the  light  that  it  is  to  re- 
ceive.  In  no  hiding-place,  in  no  book,  in  no  magic  formula, 
in  no  alchemist’s  retort  is  the  light  to  be  found;  it  is  only 
in  the  life  of  the  world,  which,  rightly  grasped  and  under- 
stood,  is  the  life  of  God  himself.  By  experiencing  the 


* E’en  joy  of  gods  cannot  a thirst  diminish 
The  source  alone  will  still. 


251 


jfaust 

world  the  poet  and  the  artist  experience  the  etemal,  the 
genuine,  the  typical,  the  divine  fundamental  lines  and 
fundamental  forms  of  the  seeming  confusion  of  the  world. 
And  thus  from  knowledge  and  art,  from  reflection,  Obser- 
vation, and  bewilderment  he  comes  back  to  life.  He  forms 
the  determination  to  “mingle  in  the  floods  of  fate,”  or,  as 
w'e  read  in  the  Ur jaust,  to  “ venture  into  the  world  to  bear 
all  the  woes  of  earth  and  all  its  joys.”  Even  during  his 
Leipsic  days  he  had  shared  in  the  activities  of  the  wrorld, 
but  with  blurred  vision  and  immature  mind,  so  that  the 
divine  in  the  world  was  hidden  from  his  sight  and  divine 
creation  was  accordingly  denied  him.  Now  he  glowed  with 
the  desire  to  experience  the  world  with  a new  spirit.  With 
him  this  desire  was  so  passionate  that,  if  it  had  not  been 
possible  in  any  other  way,  he  would  even  have  consigned 
himself  to  the  devil,  in  order  through  him  to  find  the  way 
to  God.  He  forsook  study,  laboratory,  and  clinic,  and 
fled  into  the  wide  country.  The  first  experience  through 
which  he  had  to  pass  on  his  new  journey  through  life  was  a 
bright-flaming  love  fire. 

In  the  midst  of  his  musings,  strivings,  and  experiences 
an  old  puppet  play  that  he  had  often  seen  in  his  childhood, 
Doktor  Faust,  came  back  to  his  memory.  It  was  an  old 
populär  play,  the  subject  and  hero  of  which  went  back 
to  the  Renaissance  and  the  Reformation.  Its  simplicity 
and  depth  being  no  longer  appreciated  by  the  enlightened 
and  educated  men  of  a matter-of-fact  age,  it  had  been 
obliged  to  seek  a refuge  on  the  puppet  stage. 

An  investigator,  unsatisfied  by  all  his  learning  and 
deep  meditation,  consigns  himself  to  the  devil,  in  order 
through  him  to  acquire  all  Sciences  and  arts,  all  treasures 
and  enjoyments  of  the  world,  and  for  a space  of  time  to 
feel  like  God.  This  he  does,  so  far  as  lies  within  the  devil’s 
power.  Faust  travels  with  the  devil  through  the  world, 
becomes  a magician,  who  has  power  over  the  living  and 
the  dead,  and  tastes  every  kind  of  pleasure,  even  that  of 
living  at  a ducal  court,  where  he  calls  up  the  dead  and  wins 
the  heart  of  the  prineess,  until  finally,  sated  writh  every- 


£foe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


252 

thing,  though  not  satisfied,  he  repents  and  tums  in  eamest 
prayer  to  God.  At  this  critical  moment  the  devil  brings 
him  Helena.  Captivated  by  her  beauty,  Faust  gives  up 
all  pious  thoughts  of  repentance,  rushes  toward  her,  and 
embraces  her.  In  his  arms  she  is  transformed  into  a Fury, 
and,  robbed  of  earthly  enjoyment  and  heavenly  bliss,  he 
is  dragged  away  to  hell. 

It  was  a remarkable  subject.  And  how  wonderfully 
the  motives  of  this  drama  of  unsatisfied  study  and  investi- 
gation,  of  longing  for  divine  existence,  of  the  attempted 
tour  of  the  world,  the  embrace  of  Helena,  and  the  so- 
journ  at  the  ducal  court  coincided  with  the  motives 
of  the  life  drama  of  Goethe’s  own  experiences  and 
dreams ! 

The  Helena  motive  echoed  and  re-echoed  many  times 
in  his  life.  At  the  moment  Helena  was  that  lovely  Al- 
satian  maiden  who  had  dawned  on  his  soul  in  Sesenheim 
and  flooded  it  with  light.  And  for  him,  through  the  qualms 
of  his  own  conscience,  this  beautiful,  innocent  maiden  was 
quickly  enough  transformed  into  a Fury,  who  lashed  him 
cruelly  and  seemed  to  be  driving  him  to  hell.  To  be  sure, 
it  only  seemed  so;  for  it  was  pure  love  that  he  had  given 
and  had  received  in  return.  Such  a love  was  a reflection 
of  omnipresent,  divine  love.  If  his  philosophy  of  the  world 
had  not  taught  him  this,  he  would  have  leamed  it  from  its 
effects,  for  it  had  “poured  eternal  flames  into  his  soul  and 
twofold  life  into  his  early  withering  heart”  (April.  1772). 
The  tortures  proved  but  purging  flames,  a part  of  those 
eternal  flames  which,  by  a special  favour  of  fate,  were 
destined  to  cast  all  the  dross  out  of  his  heart  and  make  it 
pure  as  gold. 

Secondly,  Helena  became  to  him  necessarily  a symbol 
of  everything  beautiful  in  art,  which  he  had  embraced  with 
just  as  much  fervour,  a symbol  of  his  own  artistic  ideal 
to  which  he  desired  to  rise  and  to  which  he  even  at  that 
time  often  feit  that  he  had  risen : “ Ye  Muses,  and  ye  Graces, 
ye  hover  round  me  and  I hover  o’er  the  water,  o’er  the 
earth,  godlike”  (' Wanderers  Sturmlied,  April,  1772).  He 


Jfaust  253 

fought  his  way  up  to  this  high,  true  art  along  the  path 
through  life  which  love  pointed  out  to  him. 

Love  for  an  individual  could  mean  to  him  but  the  point 
of  transition  to  love  striving  toward  the  universal.  With 
him  it  was  a question  more  of  making  mankind  happy  than 
one  individual.  Here  the  aims  of  the  poet  and  the  states- 
man  coincided.  Hence  he  was  held  fast  by  no  flowers, 
even  though  they  entwined  themselves  about  his  knees  and 
fondled  him  with  the  eyes  of  love.  Hence  he  prayed  in 
those  early  days  that  “when  he  was  tired  of  earthly  beauty 
heavenly  beauty  might  receive  him,  so  that  he  might  bring 
the  bliss  of  the  gods  down  to  the  earth  more  than  Prome- 
theus” (Von  deutscher  Baukunst,  1772).  From  Gretchen 
he  longed  to  rise  to  Helena. 

And  now  the  motive  of  the  sojourn  at  the  ducal  court. 
This  coincided  in  a remarkable  way  with  a motive  of  the 
future  career  in  life  which  he  hoped  and  dreamed  he  should 
realise.  With  his  talents  a large  public  activity  as  a jurist 
seemed  to  beckon  to  him  from  the  very  beginning.  His 
father  wished  to  pave  the  way  for  him  by  sending  him  to 
Wetzlar,  Ratisbon,  and  Vienna.  Then  in  Strasburg  Koch, 
Oberlin,  and  Salzmann  sought  very  earnestly  to  win  him 
for  a statesman’s  career.  But  greater  than  all  this  was 
his  own  desire  and  longing  to  be  an  active  factor  of  great 
moment  in  the  fates  of  nations.  Such  a longing  to  bring 
about  the  happiness  of  the  people  was  at  that  time  char- 
acteristic  of  the  upward-striving  youth,  to  whom  Herder 
gave  the  awakening  and  guiding  signal.  Herder  dreamed 
of  stepping  to  the  side  of  Catharine  II.  and,  with  her  help, 
making  Livonia,  Ukraine,  Russia,  the  world,  happy.  And 
as  Herder  led  Goethe  to  become  absorbed  in  Möser’s  Pa- 
triotische Phantasien,  which  began  at  that  time  to  appear 
in  the  Osnabrücker  Intelligenzblatt,  it  was  doubtless  due  also 
to  Herder  indirectly  that,  at  the  end  of  1771  and  the  be- 
ginning of  1772,  our  poet  became  deeply  interested  in  the 
governmental  ideals  set  forth  by  Haller  in  his  Usong , and 
that  he  chose  from  this  work  the  motto  for  his  Geschichte 
Gottfriedens  von  Berlichingen  mit  der  eisernen  Hand  dra- 


254 


£be  %\tc  of  ßoetbe 


matisiert,  “The  misfortune  has  happened,  the  heart  of 
the  people  is  trampled  in  the  mud  and  is  no  longer  capable 
of  any  noble  desire.”  Hence  his  first  two  great  works, 
which  were  occupying  him  at  this  time,  Cäsar  and  Götz,  were 
political.  The  thought  of  working  for  political  reforms 
pursued  him  further.  Besides  Möser,  he  studied  Wieland’s 
Der  goldne  Spiegel  and  Machiavelli’s  II  Principe.  In  the 
summer  of  1774  Lavater  found  his  political  ideas  so  fully 
developed  and  resting  on  a foundation  of  such  energy  that 
he  exclaimed,  “Goethe  would  be  a splendid  man  for  a 
prince  to  place  in  a position  of  authority!”  This  desire 
had  long  been  hovering  before  Goethe’s  mind  and  must 
have  made  him  admire  the  motive  of  Faust  at  the  ducal 
court  and  see  in  it  a Symbol  of  his  own  future,  long  before 
he  entered  into  any  relation  with  the  reigning  house  of 
Weimar.  Thus  the  most  important  motives  fixed  his 
attention  on  the  naive  fable  and  engendered  in  him  the 
irresistible  impulse  to  recast  the  old  puppet  play  and  make 
it  a poetic  vessel  into  wdiich  he  could  pour  all  his  pain  and 
sorrow,  all  his  thoughts  and  desires,  and  by  so  doing  gain 
relative  peace  of  soul  in  the  midst  of  the  whirl  of  storms 
and  dreams  eddying  round  him. 

Not  only  at  that  moment,  but  even  during  the  following 
years,  he  clung  all  the  more  tenaciously  to  the  plan,  be- 
cause  all  the  motives  which  it  involved,  seeking  after  God, 
nearness  to  God  and  farness  from  God,  belief  and  unbelief, 
desire  for  activity  and  experience  in  the  world,  joys  and 
sorrows  of  love,  sensuousness  and  ideality,  were  still  strong 
factors  in  his  life ; indeed  some  of  them  had  become  stronger 
than  before,  and  other  new  motives  which  had  entered 
in  could  conveniently  be  made  to  accommodate  themselves 
to  the  pliable  subject-matter.  Prominent  among  the  new 
motives  was  the  thought  of  forcing  an  entrance  into  com- 
munion  with  God  by  terminating  his  earthly  existence. 

And  so  the  great  work  of  his  life  wTas  conceived.  He 
elaborated  it  in  his  mind  for  a long  time  without  writing 
any  of  it  down.  This  was  his  usual  habit  with  other  works, 
but  here  he  feit  a special  hesitation  to  put  anything  on 


Jfaust 


255 


paper.  As  though  it  would  have  desecrated  the  precious 
subject,  or  the  written  words  would  have  been  unalterable, 
he  took  care  not  to  write  down  anything,  at  least  any  part 
of  the  chief  scenes,  except  what  was  good  enough  to  stand 
permanently.  This  made  it  possible  for  him  later  to  boast 
that,  so  far  as  he  finished  the  play  up  to  1775,  the  chief 
scenes  of  it,  or,  better,  the  parts  which  were  dearest  to  him 
and  seemed  to  him  most  important,  had  been  written  down 
at  once,  without  any  rough  draught.  Though  he  hesi- 
tated  to  put  it  on  paper,  he  made  no  secret  of  his  project. 
For  example,  as  early  as  the  summer  of  1772  he  told  about 
it  in  Wetzlar,  so  that  the  following  year  Götter  asked  the 
poet  to  send  him  a copy  of  Faust  so  soon  as  his  head  should 
have  “stormed  it  out.”*  Düring  this  year,  as  he  himself 
teils  us,  he  finally  ventured  to  intrust  to  cold  paper  the 
poem  which  he  had  cherished  so  fondly  in  his  breast.  It  is 
easier  to  say  in  what  Order  the  scenes  had  previously  been 
worked  out  in  his  mind  than  to  conjecture  the  order  of 
their  writing  down.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  quiet 
work  of  head  and  heart  had  begun  with  the  shaping  of  the 
first  monologue,36  which  he  may  have  muttered  to  himself 
in  Strasburg.  It  is  probable  that  the  dialogue  with  the 
Earth-Spirit  was  soon  added,  and  then  the  first  part  of  the 
interview  between  Mephistopheles  and  the  Student,  as  it 
appears  in  the  Urfaust  (discovered  in  1887),  with  its  cheap 
witticisms  on  students’  lodgings,  intercourse  with  pro- 
fessors,  payment  of  labourers,  etc.  It  is  not  very  probable 
that,  if  he  had  been  somewhat  longer  away  from  the  uni- 
versity,  the  youth,  who  was  maturing  with  tropical  swift- 
ness,  would  have  found  any  pleasure  in  these  common 
students’  jokes.  All  that  lay  between,  especially  the  meet- 
ing  and  compact  with  Mephistopheles,  was  harder  to  put 
into  finished  form  and  was  not  so  urgent.  So  he  willingly 
left  it  for  the  time  being  and,  as  we  believe,  preferred  to 

* Schick  mir  dafür  den  Doktor  Faust, 

Sobald  Dein  Kopf  ihn  ausgebraust. 

Gotter’s  poetical  epistle,  which  ends  with  these  two  lines,  may  be 
found  in  H.,  iii.,  141  /. C. 


256 


Zhc  Xife  of  Goethe 


hasten  on  at  once  to  the  Gretchen  tragedy — this  still  in 
the  early  months  of  the  year  1772,  immediately  after  the 
completion  of  Götz.  The  conception  of  this  tragedy  dates 
back,  however,  still  earlier.  It  doubtless  occurred  at  the 
moment,  say,  in  September,  1771,  when,  in  reply  to  his 
declaration  to  Friederike  that  he  could  not  enter  into  any 
binding  relation  with  her,  he  received  an  answer  which 
“lacerated  his  heart”  and  began  a “period  of  gloomy 
remorse.”  In  order  to  alleviate  the  “ unbearableness  ” 
of  his  sense  of  blame,  he  had  recourse  immediately  to  severe 
penance,  through  the  castigation  which  he  administered 
to  himself  in  Götz,  in  the  figure  of  Weislingen.  But  this 
did  not  suffice  and  could  not  be  expected  to.  The  thing 
that  carries  Weislingen  off  is  not  torturing  memories  of 
his  forsaken  Marie,  who,  moreover,  receives  a worthy  com- 
pensation  for  her  loss,  but  the  poison  of  his  mistress,  a 
Helena  in  the  sense  of  the  puppet  play,  to  whom  he  has 
given  himself  in  his  infatuation.  The  poetic  conscience 
would  have  an  entirely  different  bürden,  and  the  relief 
from  that  bürden  would  be  entirely  different,  if  the  loved 
one  were  brought  down  to  the  worst  misfortune  conceiv- 
able,  to  inconsolable  ruin,  and  the  soul  of  the  desperate, 
sensuous-supersensuous  suitor  were  overwhehned  by  the 
consciousness  of  being  to  blame  for  this  awful  fate. 

So  in  his  fancy  he  spun  out  the  Sesenheim  experience 
to  a most  dismal  end.  The  story  thus  invented  was  just 
as  dear  to  him  in  its  dark,  terrifying,  and  excruciating 
moments  as  in  its  beautiful,  bright,  and  winsome  portions, 
and,  as  he  did  not  dare  sacrifice  the  one  to  the  other,  that 
which,  according  to  the  original  plan  of  the  poem,  was  to  be 
but  an  episode  in  Faust’s  experience,  grew  to  be  a great 
independent  composition,  which,  however,  could  not  be 
severed  from  the  union  of  the  whole,  as  Die  Wahlverwandt- 
schaften later  was  from  Wilhelm  Meister.  The  poet  was 
early  forced  to  entertain  the  idea  of  extending  his  drama 
to  a work  of  two  parts.  How  far  he  may  have  progressed 
in  1773  with  the  writing  down  of  what  had  hitherto  been 
“dialogued  in  his  brain,”  we  do  not  know.  The  only  thing 


Jfaust 


25  7 


certam  is  that  in  the  years  1773  and  1774,  especially  after 
the  completion  of  Werther  in  Februar y of  the  latter  year, 
he  put  the  beginning  and  by  far  the  larger  part  of  the 
Gretchen  tragedy  on  paper. 

Otherwise  Boie,  to  whom  he  read  the  manuscript  on 
the  i5th  of  October,  1774,  could  not  have  reported,  “His 
Doktor  Faust  is  almost  finished.  ” Boie  was  most  profoundly 
impressed  by  the  work,  as  Merck  had  been  before  and 
Knebel  was  two  months  later.  His  criticism  was : “ His 
Doktor  Faust  seems  to  me  the  greatest  and  most  peculiar 
of  all”  (that  Goethe  had  read  to  him).  Knebel’s:  “ In  Dok- 
tor Faust  there  are  scenes  of  most  exceptional  splendour.” 
Merck,  in  whom  the  poet  had  meanwhile  found  the  best, 
though  not  the  only,  model  for  his  Mephistopheles,  followed 
the  growth  of  the  work  with  true  admiration:  “It  is 

stolen  from  nature  with  the  greatest  fidelity.  ...  So 
often  as  I see  a new  part  I am  astonished  how  percepti- 
bly  the  fellow  grows.  ” 

Goethe  gradually  became  very  generous  with  the  poem. 
Almost  every  one  of  his  visitors  and  friends  was  permitted 
to  hear  it.  As  early  as  1775  its  existence  was  known  far 
and  wide.  In  April  Nicolai  even  heard  that  “he  was  to 
be  portrayed  in  it  exactly  as  he  lived  and  moved,”  which 
refers  undoubtedly  to  the  figure  of  Wagner.  And  when 
Goethe  was  in  Zürich,  in  June,  Bodmer  asserted  that  he 
had  been  informed  that  he  was  going  to  work  on  the  play 
there. 

Goethe  did  not  do  much  at  it,  however,  in  Switzerland, 
either  before  that  time  or  afterward.  There  was  at  the 
time  no  urgent  experience  to  be  incorporated  in  it.  For 
his  life’s  content  at  that  period  other  avenues  of  expression 
were  opened  in  Stella  and  Egmont.  Work  on  these  plays, 
his  experience  as  a betrothed,  and  the  long  journey  oc- 
cupied  the  largest  share  of  his  time.  From  the  documents 
that  have  been  preserved  all  that  we  are  able  to  discover 
is  that  he  worked  some  at  Faust  in  September  and  October, 
including  probably  not  more  than  three  or  four  scenes, 
among  them  the  one  in  Auerbach’ s Cellar  in  Leipsic  (“  I 


258 


übe  %itc  of  ßoetbe 


wrote  a scene  of  my  Faust.  ...  In  all  this  I feit  like 
a rat  that  has  eaten  poison” — September  17,  1775). 

Then  followed  the  great  change  of  fortune.  Goethe 
came  to  Weimar.  He  was  now  at  the  court  of  a duke. 
The  vision  that  he  had  beheld  in  his  dreams  and  again  in 
the  mirror  of  the  puppet  play  was  fulfilled.  Important 
parts  of  the  great  work  could  be  filled  with  the  blood  of  life 
from  real  experience:  Court  life,  financial  distress,  the 
masquerade,  and,  most  significant  of  all,  Faust’s  efforts 
to  create  a worthy  existence  for  an  active  people  on  free 
soil.  But  what  he  experienced  here  stood  squarely  in  the 
way  of  his  writing.  His  final  aim,  especially  that  of  making 
the  people  of  Weimar  happy,  the  “daily  work”  which  he 
had  laid  upon  himself,  “demanded  his  presence  whether 
he  was  awake  or  dreaming.  ” No  admiration  could  move 
him  to  continue  the  poetical  work.  For  in  his  so  wholly 
different  circle  here  the  admiration  which  Faust  excited 
was  of  the  very  highest.  He  soon  read  the  remarkable 
work  to  his  friends,  in  the  form,  we  must  assume,  in  which 
Fräulein  Luise  von  Göchhausen  copied  it,  the  so-called 
Urfaust ,37  “The  Duchesses  were  profoundly  affected  by 
some  of  the  scenes,”  reported  Fritz  Stolberg  on  the  6th  of 
December,  1775.  Einsiedel  wrote  in  January,  1776: 

iparobiert  fid)  brnuf  als  T>oftor  gauft, 

Dafs’m  Teufel  fclber  nor  ihm  grauft* 

In  jesting  recognition  of  his  mighty  poetic  gift  he  was 
honoured  by  his  fellow-poets  of  Weimar  with  the  title 
“magician,”  as  is  the  hero  of  the  puppet  play  at  the  ducal 
court.  “ Magician  would  I have  him  styled ! ” sang  Wieland. 
“The  magician  wishes  but  a small  circle,”  wrote  Herder  in 
an  invitation  to  a reading  of  Faust.  In  a festal  play  in 
commemoration  of  the  2 8th  of  August,  1781,  he  is  already 
heralded  as  the  author  of  Faust.  But  neither  these  tokens 
of  homage  nor  the  quip  of  Karl  August,  that  “ Faust  was 
a piece  of  a piece,  which  the  public  feared,  alas!  would 

* Then  burlesqued  himself  as  Faust  in  the  play 
So  that  e’en  the  devil  must  feel  dismay. 


Jfaust 


259 


never  be  anything  more  than  a piece,  ” were  able  to  turn 
the  poet  from  his  detemiination  to  sacrifice  his  strength 
to  his  sacred  “ daily  work.  ” Only  gradually  did  the  know- 
ledge  begin  to  dawn  upon  him  that  he  was  on  the  wrong 
path,  that  he  was  destined  to  portray  moral  and  political 
ideals  rather  than  to  realise  them,  or,  let  us  say,  that  he 
could  do  far  more  toward  the  realisation  of  these  ideals — - 
toward  the  bringing  down  to  earth  of  the  heavenly  jeweis, 
as  he  once  called  them — if,  by  his  poetical  and  symbolical 
glorification,  he  should  kindle  a desire  for  them  in  the  hearts 
of  men,  than  if  he  should  attempt  in  a small  state  to  deliver 
a few  cut  stones  for  the  gigantic  edifice.  And  then  his 
longing  for  Helena  returned.  In  an  ecstasy  of  early  youth 
he  had  fancied  he  had  embraced  her,  but  he  had  only  kissed 
the  hem  of  her  cloak.  Meanwhile  his  longing  for  life  had 
been  quieted  and  subdued,  and  his  longing  for  beauty  had 
been  increased.  The  truth  that  he  had  discovered  in  life 
had  to  be  permeated  with  beauty,  if  it  was  to  appear  divine 
before  the  outer  world.  Where  was  Helena  more  visible, 
where  was  there  a greater  possibility  of  seeing  her  blissfully 
near,  and,  if  he  should  win  her  favour,  of  being  wedded  to 
her,  than  in  the  Hesperides  beyond  the  Alps?  And  so  he 
set  out  for  Italy  as  a pious  pilgrim.  His  hopes,  his  desires 
were  fulfilled.  Helena  was  joined  with  him  in  sacred 
Union.  Through  the  possession  of  her  he  experienced  a 
transformation,  a higher  existence. 

Goethe  now  had  all  the  elements  gathered  together  to 
continue  and  complete  his  Faust.  He  had  become  ac- 
quainted  with  human  society  in  all  its  strata,  had  passed 
through  all  the  moods,  struggles,  passions,  and  ambitions 
of  his  hero,  had  gained  deep  insight  into  all  the  periods 
of  history,  had  acquired  a settled  philosophy  of  the  world, 
which  enabled  him  to  fix  the  goal  with  assurance,  and, 
finally,  had  reached  the  highest  stage  of  his  art.  Here  and 
there  he  still  lacked  personal  observation,  it  is  true,  as  for 
example  for  the  war  in  the  fourth  act  of  the  Second  Part. 
But  that  could  be  supplied  from  fancy,  while  for  the  recla- 
mation  of  the  swamp  along  the  foot  of  the  mountains  Italy 


2ÖO 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


with  its  Maremme  afforded  him  more  than  one  real  basis. 
Then  since  his  poetic  power,  thanks  to  his  rejuvenation 
in  Italy,  returned  in  its  original  freshness,  he  could  now 
take  up  the  work  with  good  spirit. 

And  he  did.  His  eye  scanned  the  broad  expanses  still 
to  be  travelled  with  such  cleamess  and  certainty,  and  he 
feit  so  much  strength  for  the  undertaking,  that  in  August, 
1787,  he  expressed  the  hope  that  he  should  be  able  to  finish 
Faust  between  New  Year’s  and  Easter  of  the  following 
year.  In  the  meantime  Tasso  was  to  be  completed.  But 
Rome  continued  to  offer  him  too  much  for  him  to  sit  quietly 
at  his  writing  table,  and  so,  in  spite  of  the  best  resolutions, 
Faust  was  put  to  one  side.  The  only  progress  made  was 
the  addition  of  the  “Witches’  Kitchen”  scene,  which  he 
wrote  in  the  Borghese  gardens,  and  a part  of  the  scene 
“Forest  and  Cavern,”  beside  sketching  the  outline  of  the 
Second  Part.  In  June,  1788,  he  returned  to  Weimar. 
Relieved  almost  entirely  of  official  duties,  and  uninterrupted 
by  other  distractions,  he  was  now  able  to  work  industriously, 
and  by  June  of  the  followdng  year  Tasso  was  finished. 
Faust  was  now  the  next  work  in  tum,  if  for  no  other  rea- 
son,  because  the  poet  had  promised  it  for  the  seventh 
volume  of  the  first  collected  edition  of  his  works,  and  the 
publication  of  this  volume  was  eagerly  awaited.  Judging 
by  the  poet’s  letters  from  Italy  we  should  say  that  he 
must  have  been  extremely  eager  to  bring  now  to  a close 
the  work  which  had  been  so  long  delayed.  But  instead 
of  that  he  gave  up  further  work  on  Faust  before  he  had 
even  taken  it  up.  He  teils  of  his  determination  in  a letter 
to  Karl  August  of  the  5th  of  July,  1789.  Whence  this 
surprisingly  sudden  change?  In  the  month  of  June  a 
deeply  painful  experience,  his  rupture  with  Frau  von  Stein, 
had  cast  a blight  upon  his  desire  for  poetic  creation.  So, 
as  it  was  unavoidably  necessary  for  the  seventh  volume 
to  be  published,  he  contented  himself  with  sending  Faust 
out  into  the  world  as  a Fragment.  It  appeared  in  1790.  It 
was  more  and  less  than  he  had  brought  with  him  to  Weimar 
in  1775.  The  additions  to  the  Urfaust  were  the  two  scenes 


Jfaust 


261 


finished  in  Italy,  “Witches’  Kitchen”  and  “Forest  and 
Cavern, ” a few  verses  leading  up  to  the  “Student”  scene, 
and  the  insertion  in  this  scene  of  a few  vigorous  words  on 
theology  and  jurisprudence,  after  it  had  been  rid  of  the 
vulgär  Student  jokes.  These  additions  contributed  little 
toward  the  artistic  effect  of  the  work  and  were  by  no  means 
able  to  compensate  for  the  loss  which  the  Fragment  suffered 
through  the  omission  of  other  important  portions.  Goethe 
left  out  the  monologue  of  Valentine,  whose  existence  is 
nowhere  mentioned  in  the  Fragment  of  1790,  beside  the 
scenes  “Dreary  Day — A Field,”  “Night — Open  Field,” 
and  “Prison,”  so  that  even  the  Gretchen  tragedy  stood 
like  the  shaft  of  a pillar  without  a Capital.  He  made  these 
omissions  because  the  monologue  of  Valentine  was  too 
isolated  to  suit  him  and  because  the  “Prison”  scene  and 
“Dreary  Day”  were  written  in  overpassionate,  naturalistic 
prose.  His  newly  formed  idealistic  views  of  art  were  of 
greater  moment  to  him  than  the  applause  of  the  public. 
As  is  well  known,  he  took  a more  moderate  view  of  the 
subject  in  later  years,  and  left  at  least  the  scene  “ Dreary 
Day”  standing  as  in  the  old  prose  version. 

The  breaking  out  of  the  French  revolution,  observa- 
tions  during  the  campaign  in  France  and  the  siege  of  Mainz, 
and  the  political  fermentation  in  Germany  were  unable  to 
restore  his  lamed  poetical  power  to  its  pristine  vigour. 
Then  a lucky  star  brought  Schiller  to  his  side.  Under  his 
friend’s  electric  touch  the  lameness  vanished  and  the  power 
of  poetic  creation  was  as  great  as  ever.  But  another  work 
which  had  also  been  begun  a long  time  ago,  Wilhelm  Meister, 
and  a second,  Hermann  und  Dorothea,  which  was  crowding 
him  because  of  the  events  of  the  time,  were  the  first  to 
benefit  by  his  desire  to  write.  Not  until  June,  1796,  was 
the  way  clear  for  Faust.  Then  the  mood  was  wanting.  It 
was  no  easy  task  to  find  the  way  from  the  bright,  realistic 
light  of  Wilhelm  Meister  and  Hermann  und  Dorothea  to  the 
metaphysical  twilight  of  Faust.  The  transition  became 
possible  only  when  the  chasm  had  been  bridged  over  by 
the  timely  awakening  of  his  inclination  for  bailad  subjects. 


2Ö2 


Gbe  %\f e of  (Soetbe 


The  old  familiär  forms  then  came  crowding  in  upon  him 
out  of  the  misty  vapour  and  this  time  he  had  the  courage 
tohold  them  fast.  In  the  “ Dedication,  ” composed  on  the 
24th  of  June,  1797,  he  says: 

9kcin  ÜBufen  fühlt  fid)  jugenblidh  er  [füttert 

Slom  3auberE)aiich,  ber  euren  3ug  umroittert.* 

We  now  see  him,  even  more  than  in  Italy,  in  the  full 
consciousness  of  his  sovereignty  over  the  gigantic  masses  of 
material  still  to  be  subdued.  “The  plan  is  enormous,” 
said  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt,  when  Schiller  told  him  about 
it.  On  the  ist  of  July.  1797,  Goethe  himself  made  the 
astonishing  Statement,  “ If  I only  had  now  a quiet  month 
at  my  disposal  the  work  should  shoot  up  like  a great  family 
of  mushrooms  out  of  the  earth,  to  the  wonder  and  terror 
of  many.  ” But  the  quiet  month  was  less  than  ever  a possi- 
bility.  At  that  very  time  he  was  on  the  point  of  departing 
again  for  Italy.  Even  his  memories  of  Italy,  specially 
revived  by  the  presence  of  his  old  artist  friend  in  Rome, 
Hirt,  destroyed  his  interest  in  Faust.  And  so  we  hear  him 
confessing  on  the  5Ü1  of  July,  only  four  days  later:  “Faust 
has  been  put  aside ; the  northern  phantoms  have  been 
crowded  back  for  a time  by  southem  reminiscences.  ” The 
Italian  journey  was  given  up,  but  his  visit  with  Meyer  on 
the  Lake  of  Zürich,  and  his  study  of  the  treasures  which 
his  friend  had  brought  home  with  him,  had  the  same  effect 
upon  him  as  though  he  had  been  again  in  Italy  and  had 
lost  himself  there  in  contemplation  of  antique  and  Renais- 
sance art.  After  his  return  home  he  took  up  Faust  again 
immediately,  but  with  what  in  view?  “In  order  thereby 
to  bid  farewell  to  all  northern  barbarism.  ” That  was  not 
a mood  in  which  the  work  could  grow  rapidly.  And  during 
the  next  two  years  there  was  but  one  month  (April,  1798) 
in  which  we  find  him  busily  at  work,  so  that,  in  spite  of 
Schiller’ s much  urging,  the  poem  made  hardly  anv  ap- 
preciable  advance.  Schiller  began  to  despair.  On  the 

* Within  my  breast  I feel  a youthful  bounding 

Beneath  the  magic  spell  your  train  surrounding. 


Jfauöt  263 

24Ü1  of  March,  1800,  he  wrote  to  Cotta,  “ I fear  that  Goethe 
will  let  his  Faust  lie  unfinished  for  ever.  ” 

Then,  contrary  to  all  expectations,  the  poet’s  turning 
to  antique  art  paved  the  way  for  his  retum  to  Faust.  Out 
of  his  renewed  ardent  love  for  antiquity  he  planned  a great 
sequel  to  the  Iliad,  to  which  he  gave  the  title  Achilleis, 
and  wrote  a part  of  it  in  the  years  1797-1799.  Achilleis 
very  naturally  called  his  attention  to  Helena  and  there 
awoke  in  him  the  desire  and  courage  to  undertake  that  part 
of  Faust  in  which  the  beautiful  heroine  was  to  be  the  central 
figure.  That  was  in  September,  1800.  Once  the  way  to 
Faust  had  been  reopened,  all  the  other  parts  of  the  drama 
profited  at  the  same  time.  In  November  he  took  up  the 
“Romantic  Walpurgis  Night,”  and  even  the  serious  illness 
from  which  he  suffered  in  January,  1801,  could  not  destroy 
his  interest  in  Faust.  On  the  contrary,  after  a narrow 
escape  from  death  he  diligently  spun  out  the  threads  already 
begun,  in  some  cases  writing  out  in  full  what  “had  long 
lain  before  him  in  sketch  and  outline,”  among  other  things, 
we  may  assume,  the  “Walpurgis  Night”  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  “gap,”  and  then,  as  we  may  further  assume, 
made  use  of  his  own  approach  “to  the  very  border  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  dead”  (letter  to  Reichardt,  February  5, 
1801)  for  the  representation  of  Faust’s  death.  Between 
that  time  and  the  middle  of  April  he  succeeded  in  finishing 
the  First  Part  as  we  know  it,  beside  adding  several  frag- 
ments  to  the  Second  Part.  Then  heavy  stones  were  rolled 
upon  the  poem:  frequent  illnesses  and  journeys  to  watering 
places,  devotion  to  the  editorial  management  of  the  Je- 
naische  Allgemeine  Literaturzeitung , and,  above  all,  Schiller’s 
death.  The  latter  event,  together  with  his  own  continued 
state  of  ill-health,  discouraged  him  so  completely  that  he 
gave  up  for  the  time  being  all  thought  of  continuing  the 
work,  and  in  June,  1805,  decided  definitely  to  send  it  out 
again  into  the  world  as  a fragment,  though  this  time  one 
consistent  with  itself. 38  The  breaking  out  of  the  war 
strengthened  his  decision  and  at  the  same  time  postponed 
the  appearance  of  the  First  Part  tili  Easter,  1808. 


2Ö4 


Cbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


The  hindrances  had  meanwhile  been  removed.  He  had 
regained  his  health,  the  editorial  management  had  been 
given  up,  and  peace  reigned  in  the  land.  The  desire  to 
write  returned  also,  but  Faust  was  not  the  work  to  be  bene- 
fited.  Pandora  and  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften  sprang  up 
quickly,  side  by  side,  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit  and  West- 
östlicher Divan  were  brought  into  being,  but  Faust  lay  as 
though  in  a burial  vault.  Whence  this  stränge  phenomenon? 
Certainly  Faust  was  the  work  of  his  life,  the  greatest  and 
most  characteristic  of  all,  and  its  roots  were  intertwined 
with  all  the  fibres  of  his  being. 

The  reason  is  not  hard  to  discover.  In  what  was  still 
to  be  done  it  was  far  more  a question  of  giving  corporeal 
form  to  ideas,  to  Goethian  metaphysics  and  ethics,  than 
of  converting  real  experiences  into  Symbols.  If,  as  in  Die 
Wanderjahre,  it  had  been  a question  of  a loose  prose  com- 
position,  it  would  have  been  possible  to  persuade  him  to 
finish  it ; and  the  task  would  have  been  easier  for  him,  as  the 
main  outline  of  the  whole  work  had  long  ago  been  sketched 
and  written  down.  But  with  a poem  of  such  high  worth 
as  Faust,  the  finished  parts  of  wdiich  were  so  full  of  the  warm 
blood  of  life,  it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  assume  the 
röle  of  a merely  philosophising  poet  and  bring  to  a close  a 
definite  theme  according  to  a fixed  programme.  As  he 
expressed  himself  in  February,  1825,  it  was  necessary, 
and  was  his  desire  to  leave  the  elaboration  to  an  involuntary 
impulse  of  which  he  could  not  say  when  he  might  feel  it. 
The  impulse  failed  to  make  itself  feit,  because  the  experi- 
ences which  might  have  excited  it  were  wanting.  Not  until 
the  year  1824  did  such  an  experience  come  to  him. 

Whereas  the  death  of  Schiller  had  buried  the  poem  for 
a long  time,  the  death  of  Byron  called  it  back  to  life.  By- 
ron’s  life  and  writings  had  attracted  Goethe’s  interest  in  an 
ever-increasing  measure.39  In  the  gifted  Briton  had  ap- 
peared  a younger  Faust,  who  showed  the  same  dissatis- 
faction,  the  same  longing  for  the  absolute  and  the  unlimited, 
the  same  stormy  assaults  upon  himself  and  the  world,  the 
same  excess  of  enjoyment  and  striving,  with  all  their  con- 


265 


jfaust 

sequences.  In  spite  of  these  excesses  Goethe  did  not  fail 
to  recognise  the  great,  noble  Spirit  which  lived  in  the  Eng- 
lish  poet.  He  sympathised  with  Byron’s  hard  struggle 
with  himself  and  began  to  love  him,  as  one  loves  a highly 
gifted  son,  who  at  bottom  is  good,  but  errs  and  strays  under 
the  compulsion  of  an  imperious  nature,  and  of  whom  one 
hopes  and  knows  that  he  will  gradually  work  his  way  out 
of  the  enveloping  darkness  into  purity,  enlightenment,  and 
repose,  especially  if  love  takes  an  interest  in  him.  Since, 
on  the  other  hand,  Byron  loved  Goethe  and  admired  him 
with  his  whole  soul,  and  had  expressed  his  feeling  in  the 
dedication  of  his  Werner,  which  he  had  just  published, 
the  Weimar  poet  thought  that  it  was  time  (it  was  the  year 
1823)  for  him  to  address  to  his  youthful  poet  comrade,  the 
only  one  of  the  young  generation  whom  he  considered  his 
peer,  a few  cordial  words,  assuring  him  of  the  “ inexhaustible 
admiration  and  love”  which  he  himself  and  his  people 
cherished  for  him.  That  was  saying  a great  deal,  and 
hardly  without  some  pedagogical  purpose.  But  the  young 
poet’s  life  had  taken  a turn  which  showed  him  worthy  of 
the  master’s  love  and  veneration.  From  the  arms  of  his 
beloved  and,  one  may  say,  from  his  poetry,  from  all  the 
enjoyments  of  life,  from  spiritual  and  sensuous  reveries, 
he  had  tom  himself  away  in  order  to  devote  his  whole 
strength,  his  property,  and  his  life  to  the  cause  of  Greek 
liberty.  “Yet  the  highest  thought  has  given  thy  pure 
courage  proper  weight.  ” He  had  risen  from  enjoyment 
to  unselfish  action,  just  as  the  German  poet  had  intended 
his  Faust  should  do.  But  this  beautiful  rise  was  soon 
followed  by  the  catastrophe.  “Thou  for  glorious  things 
hast  striven,  but  to  win  was  not  thy  fate.”  We  should 
like  to  add  that  it  was  not  his  fate  in  the  world  of  deeds. 
In  the  midst  of  the  struggle  to  defend  the  fortified  town 
of  Missolonghi  against  the  superior  numbers  of  the  Turks 
he  was  carried  off  by  death,  on  the  igth  of  April,  1824. 

Goethe  was  filled  with  deep  mourning.  A letter  from 
Byron  had  aroused  in  him  the  hope  that  after  the  war  was 
won  he  himself  should  be  able  to  greet  at  his  home  in 


266 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


Weimar  “the  most  distinguished  spirit,  the  happily  won 
friend,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  humane  victor.”* 
Now  both  for  him  and  the  world  this  brilliant  star  had  set 
for  ever.  In  June  he  wrote  for  Medwin’s  Conversations  with 
Lord  Byron  a little  essay,  in  which  he  set  forth  his  relations 
to  Byron  and  his  position  with  reference  to  him.  Otherwise 
he  was  rather  silent  during  this  year,  as  though  he  could  not 
speak  of  the  loss  with  the  necessary  composure.  But  the 
following  year  he  spoke  of  it  on  all  occasions;  “out  of  the 
abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh.  ” On  the  24th 
of  February  he  had  a long  conversation  with  Eckermann 
about  Byron.  Several  times  a change  of  topics  seemed  to 
have  been  made,  but  each  time  Goethe  came  back  to  his 
hero.  “ He  seemed  inexhaustible  on  the  subject  of  Byron,” 
remarks  Eckermann.  The  following  day  we  see  him  sitting 
over  Faust  again,  after  a long,  long  intervening  pause.  The 
same  thing  had  happened  earlier  now  and  then,  but  nothing 
had  come  of  it.  At  most  he  merely  made  a “plan.”  This 
time  it  was  different.  The  poem  made  progress,  after  a 
Stagnation  of  more  than  twenty  years.  And  at  what  point 
did  he  pick  up  the  thread  to  spin  it  further?  In  the  last 
act.  From  Faust’s  death  he  passed  on  to  the  burial  and 
ascension.  Plainly  enough,  while  he  was  bearing  Faust  to 
the  grave  he  was  also  bearing  his  English  favourite  to  the 
tomb.  This  must  have  flowed  from  a warm  heart. 

After  he  had  secured  peace  and  heavenly  bliss  for  the 
Briton  in  the  picture  of  Faust  he  was  able  to  tum  his  at- 
tention to  the  last  days  of  his  hero’s  life.  These  left  a more 
profound  trace  on  the  growth  of  the  other  part,  the  Helena, 
which  had  been  laid  aside  in  1801.  Goethe  had  thought  out 
more  than  one  sketch  for  the  close  of  this  act.  We  know 
one  Version.  Faust  is  married  to  Helena  as  in  the  finished 
drama.  “From  this  union  springs  a son  who,  as  soon  as 
he  comes  into  the  world,  begins  to  dance,  sing,  and  rend 
the  air  with  fencing  strokes.  . . . The  ever-growing  boy 
gives  the  mother  much  delight.  He  is  allowed  to  do 

*Byron  had  made  immediate  use  of  his  influential  position  to  induce 
the  Turks  to  adopt  a more  humane  method  of  conducting  war. 


jfaust 


267 


anything  but  cross  a certain  brook.  One  holiday  he  hears 
music  on  the  other  side  and  sees  the  country  people  and 
the  soldiers  dancing.  He  crosses  the  line,  mingles  among 
thern,  gets  into  a fight.  wounds  many  people,  but  is  finally 
slain  by  a consecrated  sword.”40  This  was  a very  good 
ending,  to  borrow  Goethe’s  words.  But  what  did  it  sig- 
nify  to  him,  especially  Euphorion?  It  was  a fancy  picture 
that  aroused  no  lively  emotions  in  his  soul.  Then  “time 
brought  me  this  about  Lord  Byron  and  Missolonghi  and  I 
very  gladly  let  everything  eise  go”  (to  Eckermann,  July 
5,  1827). 

. In  Byron  he  could  see  two  things:  a Faust,  the  husband 
of  Helena,  defending  the  Peloponnesus,  the  country  of  his 
wife,  against  barbarism,  and  their  common  progeny,  who 
was  neither  purely  antique  nor  purely  modern,  but  a most 
attractive  mixture  of  the  two,  a peculiar  new  creation. 
He  was  a genuine  son  of  Faust,  but  superior  to  him  in 
desire  for  activity,  was  restless,  high-aspiring,  and  never 
satisfied  with  his  attainments.  “ Higher  must  I climb, 
and  higher,  broader  still  must  be  my  view.  ” With  that 
the  second  part  of  the  Helena  received  the  warm  life- 
blood  that  it  had  hitherto  lacked.  Düring  his  further 
work  the  events  of  the  war  kept  Goethe’s  eyes  constantly 
fixed  on  the  Peloponnesus,  and  by  the  aid  of  many  works 
of  travel  he  became  so  familiär  with  those  Southern  valleys 
and  chasms  that  he  was  as  much  at  home  in  them  as  in  his 
own  native  country,  and  could  well  fancy  himself  living 
in  “Europe’s  southmost  mountain  ränge,”  as  the  husband 
of  Helena  and  the  lord  of  the  land.  On  the  5th  of  April, 
in  Order  to  gain  this  familiarity  with  the  landscape,  he 
interrupted  for  several  months  the  work  which  he  had  begun 
on  the  i4th  of  March.  Then  further  postponements  were 
caused  by  Karl  August’s  jubilee  and  his  own.  In  February 
of  the  following  year  (1826)  he  took  up  the  work  again,  and 
continued  at  it  uninterruptedly  tili  the  6th  of  June,  when 
he  finished  the  Helena  act.  The  touching  elegiac  tone 
was  given  to  the  last  songs  by  the  fall  of  Missolonghi,  on 


268 


Zbe  %\fe  of  (Boetbe 


the  2 2d  of  April,  at  which  “all  the  peoples  of  westem 
Europe  were  hushed,  bleeding  with  the  Greeks.  ” 

After  announcing  to  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt  and  Sulpiz 
Boisseree  the  completion  of  the  act  he  added : “ It  is  one 
of  my  oldest  conceptions.  ...  I have  continued  to 
work  at  it  from  time  to  time,  but  the  piece  could  be  brought 
to  a close  onlv  in  the  fulness  of  time,  since  its  actionnow 
spans  full  three  thousand  years,  from  the  fall  of  Troy  to  the 
capture  of  Missolonghi.  ” 

He  gave  the  Helena  to  the  public  immediatelv,  in 
the  fourth  volume  of  the  last  edition  of  his  works,  as  He- 
lena, klassisch-romantische  Phantasmagor ie— Zwischenspiel 
zu  Faust.  The  volume  was  published  at  Easter,  1827. 

The  happy  completion  of  the  stränge  central  piece  of 
Faust,  with  its  depth  of  thought  and  wealth  of  most  ar- 
tistic  rhythms,  transported  him  to  a state  of  high  exaltation. 
When  he  told  Boisseree  of  his  ecstasy  he  feit  the  necessity 
of  explaining  it : “ Pardon  me,  dearest  friend,  if  I seem 
exalted.  But  since  God  and  his  nature  have  let  me  enjoy 
myself  for  so  many  years,  I know  nothing  better  to  do  than 
to  express  my  grateful  recognition  through  youthful  ac- 
tivity.  I shall  show  myself  worthy  of  the  happiness  be- 
stowed  on  me  so  long  as  it  shall  be  granted  me,  and  I shall 
apply  day  and  night  to  thought  and  work  to  make  it 
possible.” 

This  exaltation  was  extraordinarily  advantageous  for 
the  further  progress  of  the  work.  Whereas  formerly 
Goethe  had  always  needed  an  experience  to  lift  his  poetic 
conceptions  from  the  depths  of  his  soul  where  they  rested, 
they  were  now  carried  up  to  the  realm  of  creation  by  his 
enthusiasm,  by  his  elation  at  the  idea  of  the  whole  work, 
and  the  joyful  anticipation  of  completing  it.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  able  to  command  his  poetry  and  did 
not  need  to  wait  like  a somnambulist  for  the  “ involuntarv 
impulse.”  Whether  this  be  looked  upon  as  a rising  or  a 
sinking,  it  was  at  all  events  an  endless  gain  for  Faust.  To 
Goethe  himself  this  new  way  of  writing  seemed  very 
remarkable,  and  after  he  had  completed  the  work  he 


269 


Jfaust 

expressed  himself  in  these  words:  “By  a mysterious  psy- 
chological  tum,  which  deserves  perhaps  to  be  studied,  I 
believe  that  I have  risen  to  a method  of  writing  that  has 
produced  during  full  consciousness  things  of  which  I myself 
still  approve,  though  I may  perhaps  never  again  be  able 
to  swim  in  this  river.  Aristotle  and  other  prosaists  would 
ascribe  it  to  a kind  of  insanity”  (letter  to  Wilhelm  von 
Humboldt,  December  1,  1831). 

In  the  sunlight  of  this  transport,  with  which  clear  re- 
flection  was  peacefully  combined,  Faust  matured  as  rapidly 
as  possible  in  view  of  the  poet’s  advanced  age  and  other 
hindering  circumstances.  From  now  on  it  was  character- 
ised  in  his  diary  as  “chief  busmess,”  “chief  work,”  or 
“chief  purpose.”  Starting  from  the  act  Helena,  he  first 
worked  back  toward  the  beginning.  Between  March, 

1827,  and  February,  1828,  he  wrote  the  introductory  scenes 
of  the  second  act  and  the  larger  part  of  the  first.  At  Easter, 

1828,  he  published  what  he  had  finished  of  the  first  act: 
Faust’ s regeneration,  the  appearance  at  court,  the  mas- 
querade,  and  the  beginning  of  the  “ Pleasure-Garden  ” 
scene.  For  the  fourth  time  a piece  of  a piece.  The 
prophecy  of  Karl  August  seemed  fulfilled.  But  Goethe 
roguishly  put  himself  under  obligations  to  the  public  by 
the  closing  words,  “To  be  continued. ” The  autumn  and 
early  winter  of  the  years  1828  and  1829  produced  the  scenes 
which  lead  up  to  the  “Classical  Walpurgis  Night.”  This 
scene  ltself,  with  its  fifteen  hundred  lines,  was  dashed  off 
quickly  between  January  and  the  end  of  June,  1830.  All 
that  now  remained  to  be  done  to  complete  the  mighty  arch 
was  the  setting  of  the  keystone,  the  fourth  act.  It  threat- 
ened  to  fall  out  of  the  master  workman’s  hands.  In  Order 
to  rest  in  his  usual  way  the  aged  poet  had  turned  his  at- 
tention to  other  work  for  a few  months.  Then  came  the 
prostrating  news  of  August’ s death,  which  was  soon  fol- 
lowed  by  the  severe  hemorrhage  (November  2Öth).  Hardly 
had  he  revived  from  it  when  he  made  the  comforting  note 
in  his  diary,  under  the  date  of  December  2d,  “At  night 
thought  of  Faust  and  made  some  advance.” 


270 


Zb e Xife  of  (Boetbe 


In  the  new  year  he  made  more  lively  progress,  and  under 
the  2 2nd  of  July,  1831,  appears  the  significant  remark 
“The  chief  business  finished.”  Beside  the  fourth  act  he 
had  at  last  mastered  the  hitherto  refractory  first  scene  of  the 
fifth  act,  “ Philemon  and  Baucis,  ” and  thus  the  whole  great 
work  was  finished  down  to  the  last  line. 

One  would  think  that,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  impatience 
of  the  public  and  the  requests  of  his  friends,  and  to  enjoy 
during  the  remaining  days  of  his  life  the  applause  of  the 
best  men  of  the  time  and  those  nearest  him,  of  which  he 
might  have  been  certain,  the  poet  would  have  published 
the  new  creation  at  once.  Far  from  it.  He  had  allowed 
the  fragments  to  appear  in  print;  the  whole  was  sacred  to 
him.  The  fault-finding,  the  misunderstanding,  and  a rüde 
invasion  of  his  sanctuary  would  have  vexed  him  more  than 
the  applause  would  have  pleased  him.  He  declared  that 
the  day  was  too  absurd  and  confused,  and  that  he  would  not 
allow  his  work  on  the  stränge  structure  to  be  buried  under 
the  drifting  sand  of  the  hours  (letter  to  Wilhelm  von  Hum- 
boldt, March  17,  1832). 

So  he  held  back  the  work,  preferring,  as  he  had  in  early 
youth,  to  enjoy  himself,  in  secret  what  he  had  created. 
But  in  order  to  guard  against  any  possible  temptation  to 
take  it  to  pieces,  recast  the  parts,  and  weld  it  together 
anew,  he  sealed  it  up.  This  precautionary  measure  availed 
nothing.  Ten  weeks  before  his  death  he  liberated  the 
manuscript  from  its  imprisonment  in  order  to  read  it  at 
least  to  his  daughter-in-law.  The  result  may  be  seen  from 
an  entry  in  his  diary  under  the  date  of  January  24,  1832: 
“ New  excitement  over  Faust,  in  consideration  of  a more 
extensive  elaboration  of  the  chief  motives,  which  I had 
treated  altogether  too  laconically  in  order  to  finish.  ” “ And 

if  he  had  not  died,  . . . ” we  might  say,  with  the  fairv  tale, 
in  closing  the  history  of  the  marvellous  work. 

More  than  six  decades  had  worked  at  it.  The  Strasburg 
cathedral  and  the  Sesenheim  parsonage,  the  Frankfort 
attic  room  and  the  Wetzlar  meadows,  the  Offenbach 
gardens  and  the  Swiss  Alps,  the  Villa  Borghese  and  the 


Jfauöt 


271 


Sistine  Chapel,  the  Weimar  and  Jena  valleys  and  moun- 
tains,  the  Thuringian  Forest,  and  a thousand  other  places 
and  retreats,  beside  many  of  his  dearest  friends  and  many 
world-moving  events,  had  witnessed  its  growth,  either  as 
on-lookers  or  assistants.  Out  of  the  old  Roman  Empire, 
which  it  had  an  opportunity  to  deride,  it  had  grown  into 
the  new  German  Federation;  it  was  old  at  the  time  of  the 
first  French  revolution,  and  was  not  yet  finished  at  the 
time  of  the  second. 

And  thus  in  the  end  it  was  like  those  great  mediaeval 
cathedrals  on  which  whole  ages  have  toiled  and  moiled. 
Beginning  as  Romanesque  structures,  they  were  continued 
as  Gothic,  and  their  final  ornamentations  and  additions 
were  Renaissance  and  baroque.  Their  noble  interioris  here 
enveloped  in  the  shades  of  dusk  and  there  shines  with  magic 
brilliancy;  and  their  dark  winding  stairs  lead  us  up  to  high 
towers,  where  we  see  the  bright  light  of  day  and  our  sight 
is  lost  in  the  endless  distance. 

Faust  was  an  historical  person,  perhaps  a Swabian 
from  Rundling  (Knittlingen)  near  Bretten,  the  home  of 
Melanchthon,  whose  Contemporary  he  was  and  who  has 
left  us  the  relatively  most  reliable  account  of  him.  He  was 
a stränge  original,  a combination  of  an  arrant  swindler 
and  braggart  on  the  one  hand  and  a clever  natural  phi- 
losopher,  such  as  Theophrastus  Paracelsus  or  Agrippe  von 
Nettesheim,  on  the  other.  His  age  believed  in  such  con- 
jurers  and  magicians  and  took  great  interest  in  them,  so 
that  forty  or  fifty  years  after  his  death  the  first  Faust  book, 
Historia  von  D.  Johann  Fausten  dem  weitbeschreyten  Zau- 
berer und  Schwärt zkünstlerj1  was  printed  by  Johann  Spies 
in  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  in  the  year  1587.  Hardly  had 
the  folk-book  been  published  when  the  material  it  contained 
was  eagerly  seized  by  a dramatist.  The  Englishman  Mar- 
lowe, a forerunner  of  Shakespeare,  wrote  the  first  Faust 
tragedy  in  1589.  The  Tragical  History  of  Doctor  Faustus, 
as  his  drama  is  called,  was  the  source  and  model  of  all  later 
Faust  dramas,  was  itself  put  on  the  populär  stage  in  Ger- 


272 


Zbc  Xife  of  Goetbe 


many  in  a great  variety  of  forms,  and  there  soon  degene- 
rated  to  a puppet  play.  It  was  in  this  latter  form  that 
Goethe  first  became  acquainted  with  it. 

What  was  it  that  made  the  figure  of  Doctor  Faust  appear 
to  the  Germans  and  to  their  cousins  the  English  so  in- 
teresting  that  they  wove  a cycle  of  legends  about  him  and 
made  him  a populär  hero  of  folk-books  and  dramas?  As 
it  was  in  the  sixteenth  Century  that  Faust  lived  and  was 
“ widely  decried,  ” it  is  there  that  the  motives  of  the  tragedy 
must  be  sought. 

The  Century  was  stirred  and  dominated  by  two  mighty 
tendencies,  the  Renaissance  and  the  Reformation.  In  the 
folk-book  it  is  the  relation  to  the  religious  movement  of 
the  Century  that  Stands  in  the  foreground.  Faust  sug- 
gests  Luther,  and  moreover  he  is  said  to  have  lived  in 
Wittenberg.  While  there  he  had  to  do  with  the  devil,  but 
in  the  opposite  sense  from  Luther.  Luther  warded  off  the 
devil  in  the  Wartburg  by  throwing  an  inkstand  at  him,  and 
would  not  have  been  afraid  if  the  whole  world  had  been 
full  of  devils,  whereas  Faust  summoned  the  devil  into  his 
cell  in  order  to  enter  into  a compact  with  him.  He  feil 
into  the  devil’s  clutches,  but  Luther  came  off  victorious. 
There  is  another  contrast  between  the  two  characters. 
Faust  was  a magician.  Such  an  anti Christian  magician 
had  been  encountered  by  the  apostles  Peter  and  John  in 
the  person  of  Simon  Magus,  of  whom  an  account  is  given 
in  the  eighth  chapter  of  The  Acts  of  the  Apostles  The 
Christianity  of  the  Middle  Ages  set  up  in  Opposition  to  this 
heathen,  Neoplatonic  magic  the  divine  magic  of  the  sac- 
rament.  Luther  was  more  radical,  and  condemned  all 
magic  as  diabolical.  Whoever  gave  himself  over  to  magic 
was  lost;  he  feil  into  the  power  of  the  devil.  Hence  in  the 
sixteenth  Century  there  was  no  salvation  for  Faust. 

The  other  side  began  also  to  appear.  It  was  a period 
of  fermentations  and  upheavals,  of  mighty  struggle  and 
violent  rebellion,  and  a gigantic  wave  of  Storm  and  Stress 
swept  through  the  world.  Luther  shows  something  of  the 
movement,  has  something  of  the  demonic  in  him.  But 


Jfaust 


273 


he  recognised  certain  bounds  and  confined  his  reason  to  the 
linnts  of  the  Bible,  whereas  others  knew  no  bounds.  They 
demanded  full  satisfaction  for  their  reason  through  their 
reason;  they  desired  to  know  everything,  and  in  their 
impatient  haste  sought  after  a magic  key  that  should  unlock 
for  them  the  interior  of  nature.  Such  a man  is  Faust. 
Even  in  the  oldest  folk-book  he  appears  as  a representative 
of  this  thirst  for  knowledge,  where  it  is  said  of  him : “ He 
took  unto  himself  the  wings  of  an  eagle  and  resolved  to 
search  into  all  the  deep  things  of  heaven  and  earth.  ” He 
desired  of  the  devil  an  explanation  of  theological  matters 
and  of  the  things  of  natural  Science.  The  doctor  theologice 
became  a doctor  medicinaz  et  rerum  naturalium,  an  astrologer 
and  an  astronomer,  a mathematician  and  a natural  phi- 
losopher.  It  is  an  example  of  that  revolt  and  Separation 
from  theology  and  the  Church,  that  knowledge  of  the  worid, 
which  soon  became  as  fatal  to  Lutheranism  as  to  the  me- 
diaeval  Church.  One  need  but  think  of  Hutten  and  Reuch- 
lin,  of  Copernicus  and  Kepler,  of  Giordano  Bruno  and 
Campanella,  remembering  at  the  same  time  that  America 
was  discovered  in  the  period  of  the  Renaissance.  With  the 
struggle  for  knowledge  was  combined  a mysticism  which 
desired  not  only  to  enter  into  a direct  religious  union  with 
God,  but  also,  with  its  regained  enjoyment  of  nature,  to 
penetrate  philosophically  the  interior  of  nature  and  com- 
prehend  her  from  within.  This  mysticism  was  closely  re- 
lated to  magic,  from  which  in  its  impatience  it  expected 
and  sought  help.  Along  with  this  we  find  early,  particularly 
in  Marlowe,  a longing  for  power,  the  desire  to  know  how 
to  do  everything.  As  we  know,  Bacon,  the  English  phi- 
losopher  of  the  Renaissance,  considered  knowledge  power. 
To  this  desire  to  know  all  things  and  to  be  able  to  do  all 
things  was  added  the  third,  to  enjoy  all  things,  or,  as  the 
Faust  book  puts  it,  “to  lead  an  Epicurean  life.” 

The  desire  for  knowledge,  the  desire  for  power,  and  the 
desire  to  live  absolutely  free  from  restraint  were,  then,  the 
three  great  tendencies  of  the  sixteenth  Century.  A further 
element  of  importance  in  the  folk-book  is  the  fact  that 

VOL.  III. — 18 


274 


£be  %\tc  of  6oetbe 


Faust  conjures  up  the  shades  of  Alexander  the  Great  and 
Helena,  the  representatives  of  the  Greek  world . They  are 
called  back  to  life  from  the  oblivion  of  death,  just  as  at  that 
time  the  beautiful  statues  of  the  Greek  gods,  which  had 
been  drawn  forth  from  their  hiding-places  under  the  ground, 
were  celebrating  a true  resurrection.  Thus  the  calling 
back  to  life  of  classical  antiquity,  and  the  longing  for  beauty 
which  it  enkindled  in  the  breasts  of  men  who  had  outgrown 
the  Middle  Ages,  became  intimately  connected  with  the 
desire  of  the  period  for  knowledge  and  true  life.  All  these 
tendencies  and  motives  were  incorporated  in  the  legend 
of  Doctor  Faust. 

Between  that  period  and  the  period  of  Goethe’s  youth 
there  is  a striking  similarity.  Goethe’s  early  manhood 
was  also  a time  of  fermentation,  full  of  Titanic  defiance 
and  Promethean  impatience,  full  of  impulse  toward  self- 
power  and  self-glory,  filled  with  the  desire  to  live  and  a 
yearning  for  nature,  except  that  in  the  place  of  knowledge 
of  nature  we  find  feeling  for  nature,  combining  the  sense 
of  Rousseau  with  the  ideas  of  Spinoza.  This  period  also 
drew  nearer  and  nearer,  step  by  step,  to  classical  education 
until,  in  neo-humanism,  it  attained  a higher  and  fuller 
grasp  of  the  classical  ideal. 

Hence  in  the  eighteenth  Century  it  was  possible  for  the 
old  Faust  legend  to  arouse  new  interest  and  exert  a new 
attraction,  and  at  the  same  time  to  become  a vessel  in 
which  the  movements  of  the  age  could  be  gathered  and 
given  plastic  form.  After  Lessing,  Goethe  laid  hold  upon 
the  material,  almost  by  inward  necessity,  for  he  was  the 
greatest  son  of  his  Century  and  the  boldest  Champion  of  the 
new  Storni  and  Stress.  But  the  age  was  different  from 
that  in  which  Faust  had  lived  and  become  the  hero  of  the 
legend  and  the  drama;  hence  the  tragedy  of  Faust  had  to  be 
different.  And  above  all  wTe  must  not  forget  that  Goethe 
did  not  finish  it  in  the  eighteenth  Century,  but  that  when 
he  put  the  last  hand  to  it  the  nineteenth  Century  was  already 
far  advanced.  In  these  two  facts,  one  might  almost  say,  lies 
the  whole  problem  of  Goethe’s  Faust,  which  is  now  to  engage 


jfauöt 


275 


our  attention.  This  brings  us  back  again  to  the  history 
of  the  composition  and  reminds  us  that  Faust  appeared 
in  public  in  three  different  stages — the  first  time  in  1790, 
as  a Fragment  among  the  poet’s  collected  writings;  the 
second  time  in  1808,  the  First  Part  as  we  have  it  to-day; 
finally,  in  1832,  after  Goethe’s  death,  the  whole  drama 
in  its  finished  form,  including  both  the  First  Part  and  the 
larger  Second  Part.  We  shall  base  our  presentation  on 
this  historical  Order,  taking  up  first  the  Fragment  of  1790. 

It  consisted  of  the  following  sixteen  scenes:  (1)  Faust’s 
monologue,  his  conjuring  up  of  the  Earth-Spirit,  and  his 
conversation  with  his  famulus  Wagner.  Then,  after  a 
great  “gap,  ” (2)  Faust  and  Mephistopheles,  beginning, 
as  it  were,  in  the  middle  of  a sentence,  with  the  words, 
“And  all  that  to  humanity  is  portioned  will  I within  mine 
own  heart  leam  to  know, ” and  followed  by  the  “Student” 
scene.  (3)  Auerbach’s  Cellar  in  Leipsic.  (4)  The  Witches’ 
Kitchen.  (5)  Street — Faust — Margaret  passing  by — Me- 
phistopheles. (6)  In  Margaret’s  Chamber.  (7)  Prome- 
nade— Faust  and  Mephistopheles.  (8)  The  Neighbour’s 
House.  (9)  Street — Faust  and  Mephistopheles.  (10)  Gar- 
den and  Garden- Arbour.  (n)  Gretchen  at  the  Spin- 
ning  Wheel.  (12)  Martha’s  Garden — Faust’s  Confession  of 
Faith.  (13)  At  the  Fountain.  (14)  Forest  and  Cavern. 
(15)  Zwinger — “Incline,  O Maiden,  thou  sorrow-laden,” 
etc.  (16)  Cathedral — Margaret  and  the  Evil  Spirit.  With 
this  the  Fragment  closes,  whereas  the  Urfaust  had  carried 
the  Gretchen  tragedy  through  the  Prison  scene — but  in 
prose — to  the  end. 

As  in  the  case  of  Marlowe ’s  Doctor  Faustus,  Goethe’s 
drama  begins  with  a long  monologue  by  Faust.  It  contains 
the  exposition  and  represents  Faust  in  the  Situation  and 
mood  which  lead  him  to  advance  to  the  unusual  and  the 
superhuman,  and  which  give  us  a clue  to  the  understanding 
of  the  whole  tragic  element  of  his  life.  Even  in  the  oldest 
versions  of  the  legend  we  have  found  various  motives  for 
Faust’s  giving  himself  to  the  devil:  longing  for  knowledge, 
the  desire  to  know  all  things,  and  the  longing  for  life,  the 


276 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


desire  to  be  able  to  do  all  things,  to  have  all  things,  and  to 
enjoy  all  things.  The  first  thing  mentioned  in  Goethe’s 
drama  is  the  desire  for  knowledge.  Faust  is  full  of  all 
knowledge  and  all  wisdom.  He  has  acquired  all  the  leam- 
ing  of  all  the  schools,  is  cleverer  than  all  the  fops,  and  is 
tormented  neither  by  scruples  nor  by  doubts.  But  his 
knowledge  has  not  satisfied  him,  has  not  made  him  happy. 
Therefore  he  has  applied  himself  to  magic  in  the  hope  that 
through  the  power  and  voice  of  spirits  many  a secret  may 
be  revealed  to  him,  that  he  may  recognise  what  binds  the 
world  together  in  its  inmost  parts,  may  explore  all  pro- 
ductive powers  and  embryos  and  no  longer  deal  in  empty 
words.  So  speaks  the  leamed  man.  It  is  the  impatience 
of  the  scholar  who  would  like  to  brush  aside  all  mediateness 
of  knowledge  and  force  his  way  directly  into  the  deepest 
secrets  of  the  world.  He  desires  to  behold  objectively,  just 
as  Goethe  himself  was  a man  of  objective  thought.  Magic 
serves  as  an  expression  and  a symbol  for  this.  But  there 
is  also  a third  element,  longing  to  exert  an  influence — “I 
do  not  pretend  I could  be  a teacher  To  help  or  convert  a 
fellow-creature  ” — and  dissatisfaction  with  his  whole  out- 
ward existence — “ Then,  too,  I ’ve  neither  lands  nor  gold, 
Nor  the  world’s  least  pomp  or  honour  hold.”  This  is  fol- 
lowed  immediately  by  the  angry  ejaculation,  “ No  dog 
would  endure  such  a cursed  existence!”  Bittemess  and 
sullen  anger,  joylessness,  solitariness,  and  emptiness  are 
the  emotions  that  fill  the  breast  of  this  leamed  and  es- 
teemed  university  professor. 

Then  suddenly  a different  and  a fuller  tone,  beginning 
with  the  words,  “ 0 full-orbed  moon,  would  that  thy  glow 
For  the  last  time  beheld  my  woe!”  No  more  solitariness 
and  emptiness ; there  is  a note  of  longing,  approaching  hope ; 
there  is  a strain  of  tendemess,  bordering  on  sentimentality 
and  reminding  one  of  Ossian  and  Werther.  The  source 
of  his  dissatisfaction  is  now  different.  He  no  longer  de- 
sires to  know  everything — it  is  the  unnaturalness  of  his  life 
as  a scholar,  of  his  whole  existence  in  fact,  that  is  the  bürden 
of  his  lamentation.  What  I know  does  not  satisfy  me, 


3fauöt 


277 


said  Faust  the  leamed  man ; Knowledge  and  investigation 
alone  do  not  satisfy  me,  says  this  Faust.  Hence  even  out- 
wardly  the  tone  and  style  are  different.  Whereas  before 
he  was  angry  and  sullen,  and  his  words  were  brief,  dry, 
and  spiritless,  he  now  glows  with  passion,  and  his  language 
becomes  tender,  poetical,  and  elegiac;  or,  to  express  it 
philosophically,  before  everything  was  negative,  now  all  is 
positive. 

And  so  we  now  have  a new  motive  for  his  determination 
to  devote  himself  to  magic.  With  him  it  is  no  longer  a 
question,  or  at  least  only  in  a slight  degree,  of  adding  to  and 
broadening  his  knowledge ; he  feels  more  like  saying,  Away 
with  all  knowledge  and  investigation!  For  knowledge  is 
mere  words,  is  smoke  and  mould,  skeletons  of  brutes  and 
dead  men’s  bones.  What  he  now  seeks,  on  the  contrary, 
is  bliss,  is  young  and  sacred  happiness  of  life,  is  courage 
and  strength,  daring  and  bearing,  is  satisfaction  of  soul 
and  feeling,  of  nerve  and  vein,  of  heart  and  breast : is,  in 
a word,  life — not  knowledge  alone,  but  feeling  as  well, 
feeling  with  heart  and  soul;  not  knowledge  alone,  but  also 
will  and  -action,  enjoyment  and  deeds.  Then  away  with 
the  unnaturalness  of  the  one-sided  life  of  a scholar!  Na- 
ture, nature!  cries  this  Faust,  who  would  fain  be  a man,  a 
full  and  complete  man. 

The  presence  of  these  two  moods,  two  motives,  and  two 
styles,  has  been  unfavourably  criticised,  but  the  criticism 
is  entirely  wrong. 42  The  moment  that  Faust  the  scholar 
suffers  shipwreck,  Faust  the  man  begins  to  speak.  The 
angry,  bitter  mood  of  the  first  lines  is  followed  by  the  tender, 
glowing,  longing  mood,  which  is  fundamental;  and,  whereas 
the  former  is  expressed  in  a few  brief  words,  the  latter  gives 
rise  to  a broad  stream  of  words  bearing  a wealth  of  inspired 
poetic  imagery.  The  scholar  is  conscious  of  but  one  im- 
pulse,  but  in  Faust  two  souls  have  dwelt  from  the  beginning. 
Was  it  different  with  Goethe?  The  professor  becomes  a 
man.  Is  that  inconceivable  ? Besides,  there  is  another 
more  general  element.  The  Faust  who,  out  of  desire  for 
knowledge,  devotes  himself  to  magic  is  first  of  all  a son  of 


278 


ftbe  Xi tc  of  (Boetbe 


the  sixteenth  Century.  The  one  soul  in  Goethe  is  thor- 
oughly  in  sympathy  with  him.  The  Faust  who  desires 
and  seeks  fulness  of  life  is  at  the  same  time  the  Faust  of 
the  eighteenth  Century,  with  his  Werther  mood  and  his 
Rousseauian  longing  for  nature.  Goethe ’s  nature  is  en- 
tirely  at  one  with  his.  The  former  Faust,  then,  is  but  the 
springboard  by  the  help  of  which  Goethe  mounts  to  the 
height  of  the  latter,  in  order  to  get  from  the  sixteenth 
to  the  eighteenth  Century,  from  Faust  and  the  world  of  the 
Renaissance  to  his  own  seif  and  his  world  of  Storm  and 
Stress.  Hence  the  monologue  is  thoroughly  harmonious, 
even  though  the  first  mood  be  followed  by  a seemingly 
conflicting  one.  Instead  of  being  mutually  exclusive, 
they  are  essential  to  each  other ; the  one  fumishes  the  mo- 
tive  for  the  other  and  Supplements  and  explains  it,  and  in 
what  might  be  termed  mysticism  they  find  the  bond  which 
binds  them  into  a unity  in  the  breast  of  a man. 

Now  let  us  consider  Faust’s  execution  of  his  determina- 
tion  to  devote  himself  to  magic.  First  the  sign  of  the 
macrocosm,  the  All,  the  Whole,  with  its  three  parts,  the 
divine,  the  stellar  world,  and  the  sublunar  region  of  our 
planet,  the  sign  of  Creative  nature,  the  natura  naturans  of 
Spinoza,  “ Where  each  the  Whole  its  substance  gives,  Each 
in  the  other  works  and  lives,  And  powers  celestial,  rising 
and  descending,  From  heaven  to  earth  their  genial  influence 
bringing,  Through  the  All  their  chimes  melodious  ringing.  “ 
“ But  alas ! ’t is  but  a spectacle ! ” Why?  “Am  I a God?” 
he  asked  himself  at  first,  when  he  saw  this  sight.  As  he 
later  discovers,  this  Whole  is,  in  reality,  made  only  for  a 
God.  By  man  it  is  to  be  grasped  only  in  the  picture  and 
sign,  as  a spectacle;  for  him  it  is  only  a matter  of  contem- 
plation,  at  best  satisfying  for  one  who  could  be  content 
with  knowledge  and  find  peace  in  it.  The  Scholar  Faust 
might  perhaps  have  been  satisfied  with  it,  for  the  man 
aroused  in  him  it  is  no  longer  possible. 

So  he  turns  away  angrily  and  opens  the  book  at  the 
sign  of  the  Earth-Spirit.  “Thou,  Spirit  of  the  Earth.  to 
me  art  nearer!”  In  order  to  understand  this  transition 


Jfaust 


2/9 


from  the  macrocosm  to  the  Earth-Spirit  let  us  bear  in 
mind  the  lines  of  Grenzen  der  Menschheit,  written  somewhat 
later : 


2)enn  mit  ©öttern 
Soll  fid)  nicht  mcffcn 
Srgcnb  ein  SDfenfdj. 

§ebt  er  fid)  anfroärtS 
Unb  berührt 

9)lit  bem  Scheitet  bie  Sterne, 
fftirgenbS  fjaften  bann 
®ie  unfidjern  Sollen, 
llnb  mit  if)m  fpielen 
SBolfen  nnb  ©inbe. 

Stefjt  er  mit  feften, 

SHarfigen  ^nodjen 
SInf  ber  roofjigegrimbeten 
®atiernben  (Erbe, 

Dleicht  er  nid)t  auf, 

9lur  mit  ber  (Eidje 
£)ber  ber  Diebe 
Sief)  gtt  Dergleichen.  * 

The  poem  ends  with  a tone  of  resignation,  but  Faust 

* For  with  immortals 
Mortal  should  never 
Measure  his  strength. 

If  he,  aspiring, 

Rise  to  such  height 

That  his  crown  touch  the  stars, 

His  soles  unsteady 
Have  nowhere  to  stand, 

And  he  is  the  Sport 
Of  clouds  and  winds. 


If  he  with  sturdy, 
Sinewy  frame 
Tread  the  enduring, 
Firm-standing  earth, 
He  will  not  venture 
E’en  with  the  oak 
Or  with  the  vine 
Himself  to  compare. 


28o 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


does  not  resign  himself.  “Thou  must!  thou  must!  and 
though  my  life  it  cost  me ! ” he  cries  out  with  Titanic  courage 
and  Promethean  boldness.  And  the  Earth-Spirit  appears 
to  him.  Not  the  All,  not  the  Whole,  not  heaven  and  not 
hell,  not  a beyond  above  or  below,  but  the  earth,  the  en- 
during,  firm-standing  earth  is  the  place  where  Faust  seeks 
and  hopes  to  find  satisfaction.  This  is  the  through  and 
through  earth-centred  spirit  of  modern  man ; it  is  the  Spino- 
zistic  standpoint  of  the  immanence  of  God,  which  Goethe 
about  that  time  assumed  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  For  the 
earth  is  also  God’s.  This  spirit  is  first  of  all  the  personified 
epitome  of  the  life  of  nature,  the  force  of  nature  and  life 
upon  this  earth,  including  human  nature  and  its  sensuous 
side.  But  since  it  says  of  itself  that  even  “in  the  storm  of 
deeds”  it  works  and  labours  at  the  humming  loom  of  time, 
and  since  Goethe  calls  it  the  “genius  of  the  world  and 
action,  ” there  is  something  still  higher  involved  in  it.  Hu- 
man life,  history,  the  world  of  deeds  and  actions,  with  their 
storms  and  passions,  belong  to  its  realm.  In  Faust’s  heart 
a longing  for  action  is  combined  with  his  longing  for  nature, 
and  both  are  embodied  in  the  Earth-Spirit,  but  for  a time 
the  longing  for  nature  occupies  the  foreground. 

The  whole  of  nature,  the  whole  of  human  life,  appears 
in  bodily  form  before  Faust,  and  the  latter  exclaims : “ Woe’s 
me!  I cannot  bear  thee.”  Yet  it  is  only  for  a moment 
that  this  Übermensch  is  a prey  to  pitiful  fear.  He  quickly 
collects  himself  and  exclaims,  “’Tis  I,  ’t  is  Faust,  who 
am  thine  equal!”  But  he  is  hurled  from  this  proud  height 
by  the  answer  of  the  Spirit,  “ Thou  ’rt  like  the  spirit  thou 
dost  comprehend,  not  me!”  “Not  thee?  Whom  then?” 
we  ask  with  Faust.  Can  it  be  that  the  man  who  has  his 
feet  solidly  planted  on  the  enduring,  firm-standing  earth 
is  not  like  the  Earth-Spirit?  Why  should  he  not  be?  If 
he  is  not  like  this  Spirit,  what  does  he  resemble?  Cer- 
tainly  he,  the  son  of  earth,  is  like  the  Spirit  of  the  Earth. 
And  yet  he  is  not  the  Spint’s  equal;  for  he  is  only  a part, 
whereas  the  Spirit  is  a whole ; he  is  small,  whereas  the  Spirit 
is  great;  he  is  limited,  whereas  the  Spirit  is  comparatively 


Ifauöt 


281 


unlimited.  Here  we  find  in  Faust  both  the  guilt  and  the 
tragedy  of  the  finite — guilt,  in  that  man  desires  to  be  an 
Übermensch  and  presumes  to  be  the  equal  of  the  infinite; 
tragedy,  in  that  he  must  recognise  that  he  is  not  the  whole 
and  not  infinite.  Faust  has  drawn  the  Earth-Spirit  with 
mighty  force,  because  his  strivmg  toward  the  whole  is 
natural  and  justified,  but  he  fails  to  comprehend  the  Spirit 
because  he  himself  is  finite.  With  the  recognition  of  this 
fact,  with  this  answer,  this  annihilation  of  his  highest  hopes 
and  desires,  the  apparition  of  the  Earth-Spirit  comes  to 
an  end  and  the  famulus  Wagner  enters. 

Just  the  opposite  of  Faust,  a dry  bookworm  and  pedant, 
really  conscious  of  but  one  impulse,  eager  to  know  every- 
thing — but  for  what  purpose! — a Philistine  of  education, 
a prosaic,  spiritless  apostle  of  enlightenment  after  the  style 
of  Nicolai,  insipid,  vain,  and  empty,  and  yet,  in  his  rev- 
erence  for  Faust,  his  complete  self-satisfaction,  and  in- 
tellectual  assurance,  he  is  harmless  and  naive,  a comic 
figure  by  the  side  of  the  tragic  hero.  Hence  at  the  present 
moment  it  is  entirely  in  place  for  Faust,  in  the  conversation 
with  him,  to  oppose  heart  and  feeling  to  empty  knowledge, 
the  living  to  the  dead,  the  natural  to  the  artificial.  But, 
much  as  he  may  be  in  the  right,  Faust  here  becomes  bitter 
and  pessimistic  again,  as  in  his  first  monologue,  and  appears 
more  hopeless  than  before.  He  speaks  harshly,  especially 
conceming  history.  To  him  it  is  an  offal-barrel  and  a 
lumber-garret,  and  men  are  always  the  same;  the  few  who 
have  revealed  their  true  thoughts  and  feelings  have  always 
been  crucified  or  burned  at  the  stäke.  Schopenhauer  later 
expressed  approximately  the  same  opinion  of  history, 
and  if  we  think  further  of  Nietzsche’s  antagonism  to  the 
historical  tendency  of  our  day,  we  see  how  Creative  minds 
must  indeed  feel  something  like  a hindrance  or  fetters  in 
the  “critical  endeavour”  of  the  historian  to  go  back  to  the 
sources.  It  is  in  this  sense  that  Goethe’s  aversion  for 
history  is  to  be  explained. 

With  this  the  first  scene  comes  to  a close.  In  the  Frag- 
ment of  1790  we  next  find  Faust  in  conversation  with 


282 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


Mephistopheles.  Who  is  this  Mephistopheles  and  whence 
does  he  come?  He  is  the  devil,  for  he  teils  us  so  himself, 
in  this  very  first  scene  in  which  he  appears.  And  it  is  so 
simple,  too.  Nothing  was  gained  by  communion  with  the 
Earth-Spirit ; that  attempt  came  to  a tragic  end.  In  his 
despair  and  the  pessimistic  embitterment  resulting  from  it 
Faust  conjured  up  the  devil  and  gave  himself  up  to  him. 

Here  we  come  upon  difficulties.  Before  Wagner’s 
entrance  we  heard  Faust  utter  things  that  cannot  be  har- 
monised  with  such  an  act  of  despair.  “My  fairest  fortune 
brought  to  naught!  Oh,  that  this  moment  vision-fraught 
The  grovelling  pedant  should  disturb!”  “My  fairest  for- 
tune.” What  does  this  mean  in  the  mouth  of  a man  who 
is  broken-spirited,  humble,  and  full  of  despair?  We  must 
consider  it  in  connection  with  the  fourteenth  scene  of  the 
Fragment,  the  one  entitled  “Forest  and  Cavem. ” “Ex- 
alted  spirit,  thou  hast  heard  my  prayer  and  granted  all. 
’T  was  not  in  vain  that  in  the  fire  thou  tum’dst  thy  face 
to  me,”  Faust  there  says  of  the  appearance  of  the  Earth- 
Spirit;  and  he  continues  in  the  same  tone.  But  then  he 
adds,  “ With  this  ecstasy,  which  brings  me  near  and  nearer 
to  the  gods,  thou  gav’st  this  comrade.”  Here,  too,  he 
speaks  of  his  great  happiness,  adding  the  new  fact  that  the 
Spirit  has  given  him  Mephistopheles,  who,  therefore,  is 
not  the  devil,  but  a messenger,  an  emissary  of  the  Earth- 
Spirit.43  And  so  the  attempt  has  been  made  to  establish 
the  view  that  in  all  the  old  part  of  the  drama,  excepting  at 
most  the  “ Witches’  Kitchen,  ” Mephistopheles  is  an  earthly 
demon,  one  of  those  elflike  elementary  spirits,  such  as  the 
Earth-Spirit  has  at  its  disposal,  but  not  a spirit  of  hell  and 
evil,  not  the  devil  in  whom  the  populär  myth  believes  or 
whom  a higher  conception  takes  as  a symbol.  But  this 
interpretation,  in  spite  of  its  acceptance  by  many,  is  un- 
tenable,  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  of  the  legend,  in 
which  the  compact  with  the  devil  is  from  the  very  beginning 
absolutely  indispensable,  is  in  fact  the  essential  feature. 
Even  in  Goethe’s  drama  there  are  a number  of  passages 
which  speak  against  it,  and  they  are  found,  too,  in  the 


Jfaust 


283 

oldest  Version,  the  Urfaust,  in  the  “Student”  scene,  in 
“Auerbach’s  Cellar,  ” and  in  the  Gretchen  tragedy,  where 
we  read  explicitly  of  the  devil  and  of  hell.  The  only  scene 
which  apparently  represents  a different  view  is  the  one  in 
prose  entitled  “Dismal  Day — A field. ” There  it  really 
sounds  as  though  Mephistopheles  were  an  emissary  of  the 
Earth-Spirit.  But  even  if  Goethe  may  have  had  this  view 
at  one  time  in  the  early  stage  of  the  composition — and  even 
here  a different  interpretation  is  possible — he  certainly 
discarded  it  shortly  afterward.  However,  that  fourteenth 
scene,  “Forest  and  Cavern, ” at  least  the  first  part  of  it, 
cannot  be  made  to  harmonise  with  our  conception  of  the 
diabolical  nature  of  Mephistopheles. 

Goethe  composed  the  scene  in  Italy,  and  on  the  ist  of 
March,  1788,  he  wrote:  “It  was  a full  week,  which  Stands 
out  in  my  memory  like  a month.  First  the  plan  of  Faust 
was  made,  and  I hope  I have  been  successful  in  this  Opera- 
tion. Of  course  writing  the  piece  out  now  is  a different 
thing  from  what  it  would  have  been  fifteen  years  ago.  I 
think  it  will  lose  nothing  thereby,  especially  as  I believe 
I have  now  found  the  thread  again.”  He  believes  he  has 
found  the  thread  again,  and  in  the  “Witches’  Kitchen,” 
which  was  also  written  in  Italy,  he  really  did  find  it.  But 
not  in  this  soliloquy.  Here  a foreign  element  enters  in. 
One  can  see  it  even  in  the  majestic  style  of  the  unrhymed 
iambics  and  in  the  conception  of  nature  with  which  Goethe 
first  became  familiär  on  his  Italian  journey.  So  Mephis- 
topheles does  not  appear  the  same  in  this  scene  as  elsewhere ; 
he  is  here  really  the  emissary  of  the  Earth-Spirit.  Further- 
more  we  are  told  that  in  Italy  the  Earth-Spirit  gave  Goethe 
every thing  for  which  he  prayed,  whereas  to  Faust  it  did 
not  give  everything — did  not  give  him,  in  fact,  the  very  thing 
for  which  he  had  prayed.  Finallv,  that  this  scene,  with  its 
classical  colouring,  is  a foreign  element  in  the  Northern 
composition  of  Faust  is  shown  clearly  by  the  fact  that, 
having  no  true  resting-place,  it  had  to  wander  about.  In 
the  Fragment  of  1790  it  came  after  the  scene  “ At  the  Foun- 
tain.  ” According  to  this  arrangement  Gretchen  has 


284 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


already  fallen.  With  what  purpose  then  is  Mephistopheles 
made  to  urge  Faust  to  return  to  her  in  the  second  part  of 
the  scene?  In  the  edition  of  1808,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
scene  is  thought  of  as  occurring  at  the  same  time  as  Gretch- 
en’s  song  “At  the  Spinning  Wheel,”  that  is,  before  her 
seduction  and  fall.  It  fits  better  there,  but  only  in  part; 
and  so  the  scene,  above  all  the  soliloquy  with  which  it  be- 
gins,  is  both  in  language  and  in  content  a foreign  element 
that  can  nowhere  find  its  true  resting-place. 

After  all  do  not  the  words  of  Faust  at  the  entrance  of 
Wagner,  after  his  disappointment  with  the  Earth-Spirit, 
justify  the  other  interpretation ? They  would,  if  the  words 
had  been  the  same  originally.  But  in  the  Urfaust  we  read: 
“Ihn  low  and  lower  brought  to  naught!  Oh,  that  this 
moment  vision-fraught  The  humdrum  dreamer  must  dis- 
turb!”  The  “moment  vision-fraught”  is  retained.  That 
fits  the  facts.  But  the  “fairest  fortune,”  and  with  it  the 
stumbling-block,  has  vanished.  Faust  is  annihilated  by 
the  plenitude  of  visions,  and  instead  of  his  having  an  oppor- 
tunity  to  recover  himself  Wagner  comes  and  completes 
his  annihilation  by  reminding  him  of  his  intolerable  ex- 
istence  and  forcing  him  back  to  the  complete  emptiness 
of  the  commonplace  life  of  the  scholar.  Thus  the  old  plan 
of  the  poem  remains,  and  with  it  the  old  interpretation 
of  Mephistopheles.  Faust’s  union  with  the  Earth-Spirit 
has  failed.  In  his  despair  on  account  of  it  he  gives  himself 
to  the  devil,  who  steps  up  to  his  side  as  Mephistopheles. 
The  scene,  on  the  other  hand,  in  which  Faust  boasts  of  the 
gifts  of  the  Earth-Spirit,  and  characterises  Mephistopheles 
as  a messenger  and  emissary  of  this  Spirit,  is  out  of  har- 
mony  with  that  plan.  The  monologue,  beginning  “Ex- 
alted  Spirit,”  is  an  expression  of  Goethe’s  satisfied  feeling 
in  Italy,  but  is  out  of  place  in  Fatist. 

So  Mephistopheles  is  the  devil.  True,  he  is  not  the 
devil  of  the  folk-book,  and  not  at  all  the  devil  of  the  six- 
teenth  Century.  In  the  Fragment  he  does  not  yet  define 
himself  and  the  Lord  does  not  yet  characterise  him  as  the 
wag  whom  he  finds  least  troublesome  of  all  the  spirits  that 


tfaust 


285 


deny.  As  a matter  of  fact,  however,  he  is  such  a wag  in  the 
Fragment,  a wag  indeed  in  a twofold  sense.  He  plays  with 
himself,  speaks  ironically  of  himself,  and  he  has  humour. 
What  Goethe  gained  thereby  is  clear.  At  a time  when  men 
no  longer  believed  in  the  devil  of  the  sixteenth  Century 
the  shrewd,  enlightened  devil  must  no  longer  believe  in 
himself.  But  what  Goethe  lost  in  reality  he  gained  in 
depth  of  symbolism,  in  significance  and  importance.  He 
enhanced  also  his  art  as  a poet.  The  devil  jokes  himself 
out  of  existence  and  yet  he  Stands  before  us.  Such  a devil 
we  can  endure.  In  the  second  place  the  uncanny  atmo- 
sphere  of  hell  is  removed,  or  is  at  least  perceptible  only  to 
divining  spirits,  and  we  have  instead  a comfortable  at- 
mosphere  of  humour,  which  makes  it  possible  for  us  to 
understand  how  Faust  can  endure  the  society  of  his  un- 
canny comrade.  The  fact  that  the  devil  is  humorous  is 
also  a gain  for  Faust.  Finally  Goethe ’s  whole  optimism 
lies  therein,  closely  related  to  which  are  his  natural  gentle- 
ness,  that  later  became  Olympic  repose,  and  his  pantheistic, 
Spinozistic  view  of  the  world  sub  specie  ceternitatis , which 
sees  things  from  a standpoint  above  good  and  evil.  This 
conception  of  the  evil  one  certainly  has  its  justification, 
especially  if  the  other  darker  and  deeper  point  of  view  is 
not  wanting;  and  that  this  is  not  wanting  is  soon  made 
certain  by  the  Gretchen  tragedy. 

Goethe  later  makes  Mephistopheles  say  of  himself  that 
he  is  “ A part  o’  that  power,  but  little  understood,  Which 
e’er  designs  the  bad  and  e’er  creates  the  good.”  He  does 
not  say  that  in  the  Fragment,  but  it  is  true  of  him,  as  is 
shown  by  his  influence  on  Faust.  He  tries  to  lead  Faust 
to  ruin,  and  yet  the  result  of  his  endeavours  is  something 
entirely  different.  In  a word,  we  may  characterise  his 
influence  as  pedagogical.  Mephistopheles,  with  his  clear, 
brilliant  understanding,  becomes  Faust’s  tutor.  What  does 
he  say  to  him  in  their  very  first  conversation  ? Truths,  and 
nothing  eise,  introducing  his  statements  with  ‘‘Oh,  believe 
me.”  To  be  sure,  he  would  like  to  draw  down  this  lofty 
spirit  from  his  ideal  height,  from  his  striving  toward  the 


286 


Zhe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


absolute,  would  like  to  turn  him  away  from  his  original 
source;  and  so  to  Faust,  the  visionary  and  idealist,  full  of 
illusions,  he  opposes  with  inexorable  logic  the  real  world  in 
all  its  nakedness  and  reality,  without  illusions;  to  his  lofty 
aspiration  to  the  absolute,  the  bounds  and  limitations  of 
such  striving ; to  his  mind  fixed  on  the  highest  things,  the 
whole  lowness  and  commonness  of  life,  and  to  his  super- 
sensuous  spirit  the  degrading  power  of  sensuousness.  “ Un- 
derstanding  against  reason,  ” says  Schiller  aptly,  in  his 
Kantian  language.  The  effect  may  be,  though  it  is  not 
necessarily,  different  from  what  he  desires  and  expects. 
Faust  is  cured  of  his  unsound  idealism;  he  recognises  that 
the  real  side  has  also  its  just  rights,  and  hence  gives  up  his 
too  lofty  aims ; and  he  gradually  becomes  reconciled  to  the 
bounds  and  limitations  which  have  been  set  for  finite  man. 
In  this  connection  Goethe  was  doubtless  thinking  of  Herder 
and  Merck  and  their  influence  on  him.  They  must  offen 
have  seemed  to  him  devilish,  when  they  jeered  at  his  am- 
bitions  and  ruthlessly  broke  his  idols  over  his  head.  And 
yet  they  were  right.  Thus  false,  devilish  realism  may  be- 
come  for  Faust  a school  of  sound,  true  realism. 

A Student  enters  and  gives  Mephistopheles,  masked  as 
Faust,  an  opportunity  for  that  delicious  bit  of  persiflage 
at  the  four  faculties  and  the  whole  System  of  university 
instruction  of  the  time.  This  scene  furnishes  a supple- 
mentary,  detailed  justification  of  Faust’s  disgust  at  phi- 
losophy,  jurisprudence,  medicine,  and  alas!  also  theology. 
His  scoffing  at  collegium  logicum  and  his  mockery  at  meta- 
physics,  unfortunately  very  superficial;  his  revolutionär)', 
Rousseauesque  distinction  between  Statute  laws  and  natural 
rights,  the  latter  of  which,  alas ! are  never  considered ; his 
thoughtful  words  concerning  the  hidden  poison  of  theology, 
and  his  frivolous  prattle  about  the  spirit  of  medicine,  are 
so  enjoyable  that  we  are  glad  to  miss  in  the  Fragment  the 
student-jokes  about  board  and  lodging  at  Frau  Sprizbier- 
lein’s,  which  had  found  their  way  into  the  Urfaust  from 
vivid  memories  of  Leipsic.  This  scene  took  the  place  of  a 
great  disputation  which  Goethe  had  originally  planned  and 


tfaust 


287 


during  which  Faust  was  doubtless  to  say  things  which 
could  not  fail  to  bring  him,  the  freethinker,  into  conflict 
with  the  orthodox  pedants  of  the  university,  so  that  he 
would  have  feit  forced  to  leave  his  office  and  the  city.44 
At  any  rate  it  affords  an  explanation  of  the  first  appearance 
of  Mephistopheles  in  the  form  of  a travelling  scholar. 

And  now  up ! and  out  into  the  wide  world ! or,  with  less 
pathos,  “Then  quick,  from  all  reflection  free,  Come,  plunge 
into  the  world  with  me!”  “The  little  world  and  then  the 
great  we  ’ll  see.  ” First  the  little  world,  or  as  Mephistopheles 
formulates  it  to  himself,  “ Him  will  I drag  through  revels 
gay,  His  lust  with  vapid  trifles  feed.  ” Vapid  and  trifling, 
indeed,  are  the  merry  fellows  in  Auerbach’s  Cellar,  and  we 
feel  certain  that  Faust  can  take  no  pleasure  in  their  society. 
And  yet  for  the  university  professor,  leaving  his  position 
behind  for  the  pleasures  of  life,  the  most  natural  thing  to 
do  first  is  to  see  what  he  may  find  in  students’  merriment. 
The  scene  is  depicted  in  the  spirit  of  the  old  Faust  legend. 
The  causing  of  different  wines  to  flow  is  a magic  trick  which 
in  the  Urfaust  is  not  performed  by  Mephistopheles,  but  by 
Faust,  so  that  there  at  least  Faust  is  not  condemned  to 
complete  passivity. 

Then  follows  the  “Witches’  Kitchen.  ” This  scene,  as 
we  have  already  heard,  was  composed  by  Goethe  in  Rome, 
in  1788.  It  is  remarkable  how  surely  he  was  able  to  strike 
the  Northern,  barbaric  tone  in  the  midst  of  the  classic 
world  of  Italy,  and  at  the  moment  when  he  was  recasting 
Iphigenie  into  iambic  pentameters  beautifully  modelled 
after  the  classic  style.  And  yet  on  the  other  hand  it  is 
natural.  His  wild  revelries  in  Weimar  and  his  whole 
Storm-and-Stress  period  lie  behind  him  and  must  seem  to 
him,  here  in  Italy,  especially  wild  and  senseless.  At  the 
same  time  we  notice  here  the  beginning  of  a tendency  which 
was  to  become  more  and  more  detrimental  to  the  drama 
as  time  went  on,  namely,  the  inclination  to  weave  into  the 
poem  all  sorts  of  literary,  political,  and  dogmatic  allusions, 
the  number  of  which  in  this  scene  was  still  further  increased 
in  the  later  Version. 


288 


Zbe  Xife  of  <3oetbe 


But  what  is  the  purpose,  in  the  midst  of  the  drama, 
of  all  this  hocus-pocus?  Faust  is  to  be  rejuvenated  by 
means  of  the  witch’s  magic  potion;  the  filthy  mess  is  to 
take  thirty  years  from  his  body.  Is  that  necessary?  The 
Faust  who  in  the  monologue  looks  up  so  longingly  at  the 
moon,  and  strives  after  nature  with  such  ardent  desire, 
has  a young  heart  and  youthful  senses.  Study  makes  one 
prematurely  old,  but  we  are  now  no  longer  dealing  with  this 
over-educated  man;  we  have  to  do  with  the  human  being, 
the  youth,  the  man,  who  is  to  open  his  heart  to  sensuous 
love  for  woman,  with  all  its  power  and  passion,  and  this 
is  symbolised  by  his  visit  to  the  Witches’  Kitchen.  “ Is  ’t 
possible  ? Hath  woman  such  charms  ? ” he  asks,  accordingly, 
as  he  Stands  before  the  picture  in  the  magic  mirror.  So  it  is 
woman,  not  Gretchen  or  Helena,  but  the  Etemal-Womanly, 
that  appears  to  him  here,  though  at  present  only  in  a form 
that  charms  the  senses,  allures,  and  seduces.  The  devil 
thinks  that  he  will  catch  him  with  this  Iure,  but  perhaps 
woman — first  Gretchen,  then  Helena — will  serve  to  free 
Faust  from  the  devil  and  thus  to  prepare  the  way  for  the 
Eternal-Womanly  in  that  higher  sense  according  to  which 
it  is  to  draw  him  upward  and  redeem  him.  In  that  case 
Mephistopheles  is  already  the  power  which  e’er  designs 
the  bad  and  yet  perhaps  creates  the  good — is  already  the 
deceived  devil. 

And  now  the  Gretchen  tragedy,  a new  Variation  of  the 
favourite  Storm-and-Stress  theme  of  “the  infanticide. ” 
But  what  has  Goethe  made  of  it?  These  Gretchen  scenes, 
taken  together,  form  probably  the  greatest  masterpiece  of 
poetry  ever  written.  Infinite  in  their  beauty  and  tender- 
ness,  they  are  at  the  same  time  so  profoundly  tragical  that 
all  the  woes  of  mankind  appear  in  the  most  narrow  limits 
of  the  life  of  a girl  of  the  common  people. 

First  Faust’s  senses  are  inflamed  at  the  sight  of  Gretchen. 
In  the  Urfaust  we  read,  “A  wondrous  pretty  maid  is  she, 
And  something  she  ’s  inflamed  in  me.  ” Hardly  has  he  seen 
her  when  he  says  to  Mephistopheles,  “Hear!  Thou  must 
the  girl  for  me  procure.”  The  potion  has  had  its  effect; 


289 


Jfaust 

he  speaks  like  Jack  Profligate,  speaks  almost  like  a French- 
man.  Mephistopheles  leads  him  to  her  chamber,  into  the 
atmosphere  in  which  she  moves,  in  Order  to  arouse  his 
appetite  still  more.  But  how  differently  Faust  is  affected 
by  the  scene!  How  ashamed  he  is  of  his  sensuous  desire, 
how  vile  he  seems  to  himself  in  this  earthly  sanctuary  of 
innocence  and  purity!  Yet  it  is  just  as  natural  that  his 
determination,  expressed  in  the  words  “Away!  I ’ll  ne’er 
return  again,”  should  be  sacrificed  to  his  stronger  sensuous 
impulse,  especially  as  it  is  soon  supported  by  the  deeper 
feeling  of  love,  which  begins  to  spring  up  in  his  heart. 

To  Gretchen,  the  divining  angel,  after  her  return  home, 
the  air  of  her  room  feels  sultry  and  close.  As  though 
prophesying  her  own  future,  she  sings  Der  König  in  Thule, 
that  ballad  of  fidelity  and  parting.  Then  she  finds  the 
casket.  “ What  the  dickens  is  in  this  thing?”  exclaims  the 
child  of  the  common  people,  and  she  cannot  take  her  eyes 
off  its  contents,  for  “ Gold  all  doth  Iure,  And  gold  procure 
All  gladly!  Alas,  we  poor!”  A good  deal  of  the  social 
problem,  with  all  its  terrible,  world-stirring  consequences, 
is  crowded  into  these  few  words,  and  they  affect  us  imme- 
diately  and  deeply,  though  it  is  not  obvious  that  such  is 
their  purpose.  Even  the  Church  is  powerless  here.  “Just 
think,  the  gems  for  Gretchen  got,  they  say,  A priest  hath 
slyly  snatched  away!’’  But  she  “the  jeweis  day  and  night 
thinks  o’er,  On  him  who  brought  them  dwells  still  more.” 

And  now  the  two  go-betweens,  the  devil  and  Frau 
Martha,  the  latter  almost  more  diabolical  than  the  former. 
We  are  astonished  that  Gretchen  should  make  a confidante 
of  this  woman.  She  very  soon  sees  through  Mephistopheles; 
why  not  Frau  Martha?  “Alas,  we  poor!”  again  explains 
everything.  The  poor  have  not  the  liberty  to  choose  whom 
they  will  for  their  friends.  In  this  sharply  defined  circle 
the  relation  betwreen  Gretchen  and  Martha  is  that  of  neigh- 
bours.  In  contrast  to  the  exacting,  bigoted  mother,  Martha 
is  indulgent  and  friendly,  and  as  Gretchen  is  accustomed 
to  the  go-between  neighbour’s  face  she  accepts  her  friend- 
liness  as  genuine,  without  a sign  of  mistrust. 

VOL.  III.-19. 


290 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


The  first  meeting  in  the  garden  is  arranged;  but  ap- 
parently  there  is  an  obstacle  in  the  way.  Faust  is  expected 
to  testify  that  Frau  Martha’s  husband’s  remains  repose  in 
holy  ground  in  Padua,  and  yet  he  knows  nothing  about  it. 
So  he  is  expected  to  swear  falsely.  Although  his  objections 
to  such  an  act  are  soon  overcome,  it  is  apparent  even  at 
this  early  stage  that  Mephistopheles  has  made  a mistake 
in  his  reckoning  with  regard  to  Faust.  “ Liar,  sophist,” 
Faust  calls  him,  as  though,  apart  from  this,  he  were  not 
ready  at  any  moment  to  swear  falsely  of  his  “ etemal  truth 
and  love,  That  power  unique,  all  other  powers  above.  ” 
Faust  assures  Mephistopheles,  however,  that  the  vow  will 
really  come  from  his  heart.  “ If  passion  sways  me,  And 
I the  glow  wdierewith  I burn  Call  quenchless,  endless,  yea, 
eterne,  Is  that  a devilish,  lying  game?”  Mephistopheles 
is  right,  to  be  sure;  Faust’s  purpose  is  deception  and  se- 
duction.  And  yet  Faust  is  also  right.  Love  is  etemal; 
not  in  the  common  sense  of  temporal  endlessness,  but  in 
the  much  higher  sense  that  here  the  common,  the  sensuous, 
the  finite  is  raised  above  its  limitations,  is  ennobled,  spir- 
itualised,  idealised  to  the  qualitatively  infinite,  that  in  the 
idealism  of  true  love  the  realism  of  sensuousness  does  not 
in  the  end  prevail;  and  against  these  illusions  Mephisto- 
pheles is  powerless. 

The  next  scene  is  the  promenade  of  the  two  pairs  in  the 
garden.  The  picture  of  Gretchen  is  charming  in  every  line 
and  feature:  in  her  naive  simplicity,  her  sweet  innocence, 
her  confiding  humility,  in  the  description  of  her  little  joys 
and  sorrows  and  of  her  simple  performance  of  the  duties 
of  her  narrow  existence,  and,  finally,  in  her  playful  pluck- 
ing  off  of  the  leaves  of  the  star  flower  in  her  new  budding 
love.  And  then  on  the  following  day  her  longing  for  her 
beloved,  as  she  sits  at  the  spinning  wrheel.  The  flower  of 
love  is  full-blown.  One  may  justly  say  that  her  words  are 
too  high-sounding  in  the  mouth  of  a “poor,  ignorant 
child,”  but  who  would  desire  to  have  a single  one  of  them 
changed  ? 

In  the  next  scene  we  find  her  again  with  Faust.  Trou- 


Jfauöt 


291 


bled  about  the  salvation  of  her  beloved’s  soul,  she  asks, 
“Howis’t  with  thy  religion,  pray?”  and  Faust  declares 
his  confession  of  faith,  which  even  externally  is  a master  - 
piece,  conceived  in  the  highly  poetic  style  of  Ganymed, 
Grenzen  der  Menschheit,  and  Das  Göttliche.  It  is  an  in- 
imitably  beautiful  clothing  of  philosophic  thought  in  ques- 
tions  full  of  spiritual  intuition  and  feeling.  Like  Schiller's 
philosophic  poems,  it  is  crowded  with  ideas,  yet  is  purest 
poetry.  The  thought-content  is  the  confession  of  faith 
of  a pantheist,  which  Goethe,  as  we  know,  always  was. 
And  this  pantheism  is  nature-pantheism  and  nature-mys- 
ticism,  not  as  philosophy,  but  as  real  religion.  “ Call  it 
Bliss!  Heart!  Love!  God!  Feeling  is  all  in  all.  ” Heart 
and  Love,  it  well  may  be;  but  how  does  it  come,  then,  that 
a man  so  full  of  heart  and  full  of  love  can  endure  the  society 
of  a Mephistopheles,  when  it  is  so  clear  that  naught  on  earth 
his  sympathy  can  draw,  that  to  his  heart  no  soul  is  dear? 
Herein  lies  the  difference  between  Gretchen  and  Faust. 
She  is  really  all  heart  and  love,  whereas  in  his  breast  two 
souls  dwell.  He  has  the  egoistic,  scofhng  companion  at  his 
side  because  he  himself  is  not  all  heart,  not  all  pure,  eter- 
nal  love,  because  as  a man  he  is  at  once  feeling  and 
understanding. 

Is  there  any  indication  of  this  lack  in  the  confession  of 
faith  itself?  Yes  and  no.  This  pantheistic  confession  is 
Goethe’s  own  creed.  Then  he  certainly  did  not  intend  to 
represent  it  as  in  any  way  imperfect  or  condemnable.  And 
yet  it  is  not  a mere  accident  that  immediately  after  it  the 
seduction  is  attempted  and  accomplished.  Psychologically 
the  observation  is  perfectly  correct  that  such  moments  of 
spiritual  exaltation,  especially  if  they  are  so  largely  a pro- 
duct  of  feeling,  are  followed  by  a relapse  into  sensuousness, 
and  the  supersensuous  wooer  very  quickly  becomes  a 
sensuous  lover.  Religious  mysticism  is  particularly  often 
endangered  by  this  lapse  into  sensuousness. 

There  is  one  thing  more.  “Thou  hast  no  Christian- 
ity,”  says  Gretchen.  In  these  words  she  points  out  a gap 
in  Faust’s  creed.  She  misses  in  it  the  dogmatic  side  of 


292 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


Christianity.  We  may  translate  her  words  into  our  own 
language  and  say  that  Faust’s  emotional  pantheism  lacks 
moral  force  and  energy,  moral  self-discipline,  the  recog- 
nition  of  the  moral  law  and  its  sacredness.  The  fault  does 
not  lie  in  pantheism  as  such,  but  in  the  element  of  nature 
in  this  particular  pantheism — in  the  fact  that  it  is  merely 
a matter  of  the  feelings,  a mere  nature-pantheism,  and  not 
an  ethical  pantheism ; that  belief  in  love-bestowing  nature 
does  not  imply  belief  in  a moral  Constitution  of  the  world . 
This  explains  Faust’s  weak  moral  surrender,  the  victory 
of  his  natural  impulses,  the  sensuous  element  in  his  love. 
The  danger  of  such  revelling  in  natural  impulses  Goethe 
doubtless  knew  from  experience,  and  in  his  own  life  he 
opposed  to  it  more  and  more  as  the  years  went  by  the  hard 
command  of  moral  resignation.  At  the  present  moment 
Faust  has  no  conception  of  resignation;  hence  the  Gretchen 
drama  develops  into  a horrible  tragedy. 

Just  here  lies  another  difference  between  Faust  and 
Gretchen,  a difference  of  education.  To  this  is  due  the  fact 
that  from  the  beginning  there  was  no  thought  of  a perma- 
nent relation  between  the  two.  That  the  end  would  be 
despair  Faust  well  knew,  and  he  knew,  too,  that  there  must 
be  an  end.  Gretchen,  on  the  other  hand,  simply  believed 
and  gave  herseif  to  him.  She,  too,  has  that  natural  side; 
she  is  a child  of  nature  and  is  at  the  same  time  all  love  and 
all  belief;  wherefore  downfall  is  for  her  entirely  natural, 
a natural  necessity.  She  must  give  herseif,  for  her  be- 
loved  is  her  world.  To  be  sure,  this  involves  guilt,  which 
is  avenged  cruelly  enough;  but  the  more  guilty  of  the  two 
is  Faust.  Gretchen  is  both  guilty  and  innocent;  she  is  a 
blind  victim. 

The  devil  has  his  “delight”  in  the  whole  affair.  His 
sneering  announcement  of  the  fact  is  extremely  painful 
to  us,  who  are  appalled  at  the  course  things  are  taking. 
We  foresee  what  is  coming,  especially  after  Gretchen,  in  her 
ignorance  and  blissful  confidence,  has  accepted  from  Faust 
a sleeping  potion  for  her  mother. 

Gretchen  has  fallen,  and  in  what  Lieschen  says  of 


295 


Ifaust 

Bärbelchen  at  the  fountain  she  now  sees  the  judgment  of 
the  world  pronounced  upon  herseif.  It  is  the  judgment 
of  morals  on  the  rights  which  passion  and  heart  believe 
they  may  take  in  defiance  of  the  world.  Even  now 
Gretchen  recognises  this  judgment  as  just  when  applied 
to  herseif:  “And  now  I,  too,  am  stained  with  sin.” 

We  have  already  spoken  of  the  fourteenth  scene,  “Forest 
and  Cavern.”  In  the  monologue  we  find  again  the  nature- 
pantheism  of  the  confession  of  faith,  expressed  in  language 
full  of  force  and  beauty,  and  with  its  thought-content  deep- 
ened  by  the  view  of  nature  acquired  by  Goethe  in  Italy. 
The  second  part  of  the  scene,  in  which  Mephistopheles,  as 
a go-between,  calls  Faust  back  to  his  forsaken  Gretchen, 
who  Stands  at  the  window  and  sees  the  clouds  float  over 
the  old  city  wall — and  we  see  them  with  her — is  out  of 
place  here,  although  the  outburst  of  wild  remorse  at  the 
close  is  in  place  here  and  here  alone.  Hence  Goethe  only 
half  improved  matters  when  he  later  made  the  scene  par- 
allel with  Gretchen’s  song  at  the  spinning  wheel. 

Gretchen  goes  with  her  trouble  to  the  mater  dolorosa 
in  the  Zwinger  and  begs  her  help  in  this  time  of  need.  The 
scene  in  the  cathedral,  which  the  Urfaust  characterises 
more  specifically  as  the  exequies  of  her  mother,  closes  the 
Fragment.  We  learn  here  that  the  mother  has  been  killed 
by  Gretchen,  but  do  not  learn  in  what  way  the  deed  was 
done.  In  any  case  it  was  not  done  intentionally ; it  was 
merely  a fatal  accident,  due  to  the  awkwardness  of  the 
girl.  And  yet  she  was  to  blame  for  the  sinful  deed.  The 
hellish  pangs  of  remorse  are  embodied  in  the  voice  of  the 
evil  spirit,  and  so  she  sinks  in  a swoon.  “ Neighbour, 
your  smelling  bottle!”  With  these  words  the  powerful 
tragedy  comes  to  an  end. 

It  is  first  of  all  the  tragedy  of  Gretchen.  She  is  the 
heroine,  her  fate  is  tragical,  her  innocence  is  wrecked,  and 
with  it  she  herseif  goes  to  ruin  in  accordance  with  the  in- 
exorable  law  of  tragic  necessity. 

What  significance  has  this  tragedy  for  Faust?  We  do 
not  know  as  yet;  the  Fragment  of  1790  has  not  even  followed 


294 


£be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


Gretchen’s  fate  to  the  end,  and  it  leaves  us  entirely  in  the 
dark  concerning  Faust.  And  yet  not  entirely  either.  In 
the  fourteenth  scene,  repeatedly  referred  to,  we  read : 

93m  id)  ber  glücf)tling  nicht,  ber  Unbetjaufte, 

®et  Unmenfd)  ohne  Btüecf  unb  9lub, 

®er  roie  ein  SBafferfturg  non  gel$  gu  gelfen  braufte, 
begierig  nnitenb,  nach  bem  3lbgrunb  gu  ? 

Unb  feitroärtö  fie,  mit  finblid)  bumpfen  ©innen, 

3m  tfmttdjen  auf  bem  fleinen  SUpenfelb, 

Unb  all  ibr  bäuölidjeö  beginnen 
Umfangen  in  ber  fleinen  SBelt. 

Unb  ich,  ber  ©ottberhajite, 

$attc  nicht  genug, 

®afi  id)  bie  Reifen  fafite 
Unb  fie  gu  Krümmern  fdjlug ! 

©ie,  ihren  ^rieben  mufit’  ich  untergraben! 

9ttag  ihr  ©efcfjicf  auf  mich  gufammenftürgen 
Unb  fie  mit  mir  gu  ©runbe  gehn!  * 

The  description  here  given  of  the  love  of  the  man  of  high 
intellectual  standing  could  not  be  improved  upon.  For 
him  such  a love  is  but  an  episode,  an  idyll;  he  drags  the 
simple  maiden  into  the  Whirlpool  of  his  life  and  she  goes 
under.  And  he?  Goethe  knew  how  he  had  wronged 
Friederike  of  Sesenheim.  To  be  sure,  it  was  not  a wrong 
such  as  that  perpetrated  on  Gretchen;  but  her  peace  was 

* And  am  I not  an  outcast,  homeless  roaming, 

A monster  without  aim  and  rest, 

Who,  like  a torrent,  sweep  down  cliffs  and  gorges,  foaming, 
Tow’rd  the  abyss  by  raging  passion  pressed? 

Alongside.she,  with  childhood’s  dormant  senses, 

Doth  in  her  little  sheltered  cot  appear. 

For  her  each  thought  and  task  commences 
And  ends  within  this  little  sphere. 

And  I,  God’s  hate  hung  o’er  me, 

Cannot  assuage  my  lust 
By  grasping  rocks  before  me 
And  dashing  them  to  dust! 

Her  and  her  peace  I yet  must  undermine! 

Then  may  her  doom  fall  crushing  on  my  head, 

And  she  to  ruin  plunge  with  me! 


Jfaust 


295 


destroyed,  her  happiness  undermined,  and  her  heart  broken, 
or  at  least  it  seemed  so  to  him.  His  pangs  of  remorse  on 
account  of  it,  the  hellish  torments  of  his  accusing  conscience, 
are  here  objectified.  In  this  mood  it  seemed  to  him  as 
though  his  sun-chariot  might  also  plunge  into  the  abyss, 
as  though  he  might  rush  to  ruin  and  fall  into  the  clutches 
of  the  devil.  For  the  Faust  of  the  sixteenth  Century  this 
question  was  decided  unfavourably  as  a matter  of  course; 
the  magician  belonged  in  hell.  With  Lessing’s  Faust,  in 
the  age  of  optimistic  enlightenment,  the  opposite  was  true. 
There  Heaven  cried  to  the  devils,  Ye  shall  not  gain  the 
victory!  With  Goethe’s  hero,  however,  the  question  was 
for  the  moment  not  so  simple.  It  was  possible  for  him  to 
go  to  ruin  with  Gretchen,  to  be  lost  in  the  end  as  she  was.45 
And  yet  the  power  which  e’er  designs  the  bad  and  e’er 
creates  the  good,  the  conscienceless  devil,  helps  Faust 
overcome  this  mood  and  finds  the  frtting  words  for  him : 
“Where  such  a head  as  thine  no  outcome  sees,  it  fancies 
straight  the  end  has  come.  Hail  him  who  never  loses 
heart!”  That  is  the  important  point.  Remorse  is  an 
illusion,  thinks  Mephistopheles;  right  is  on  the  side  of  the 
living.  Hence,  as  he  has  already  involved  Faust  in  blackest 
guilt,  he  plans  further  to  drag  him  into  new  episodes,  into 
new  distractions.  But  Faust  has  illusions  and  will  keep 
them;  he  is  now,  and  will  remain,  an  idealist;  and  so  he 
knows  the  value  of  remorse  and  must  put  a different  inter- 
pretation  upon  the  words  “ Hail  him  who  never  loses 
heart!”  He  sees  in  them  a teaching  which  also  helps  one 
to  overcome  remorse,  namely,  that  while  life  strikes  wounds 
it  also  heals  wounds,  and  that  not  to  lose  heart  in  life  is  the 
only  way  to  atone  for  guilt.  Thus  even  here  a way  is 
opened  leading  from  a life  of  passive  enjoyment  to  one  of 
action,  from  the  little  world  to  the  great.  Faust  may  draw 
this  teaching  from  the  words,  but  he  is  not  obliged  to.  He 
may  be  saved,  but  he  is  not  forced  to  be.  Hence  at  the 
end  of  the  Fragment  we  are  left  in  uncertainty  and  sus- 
pense  as  to  the  outcome.  At  the  same  time  there  are  here 
moral  elements  in  abundance,  whereas  in  the  confession 


296 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


of  faith  and,  one  might  perhaps  say,  in  the  whole  of  the 
Ur jaust  they  were  lacking.  Here  they  may  at  least  be  found. 

We  do  not  come  to  the  hardest  problems  tili  we  proceed 
from  the  Fragment  of  1790  to  the  additions  of  the  version 
of  1808.  The  three  most  important  of  these  are:  (1)  the 
beginning,  including  the  “ Dedication,  ” the  “ Prelude  on 
the  Stage,  ” and  the  “ Prologue  in  Heaven” ; (2)  the  portions 
filling  up  the  great  “gap,”  namely,  Faust’s  second  mono- 
logue,  the  Easter  chimes,  the  promenade  before  the  city- 
gate,  the  exorcism  of  Mephistopheles,  the  latter’s  return 
and  his  compact  with  Faust;  and,  finallv,  (3)  the  close  of 
the  Gretchen  tragedy,  the  Valentine  scene,  “ Walpurgis 
Night,”  Faust’s  return  after  he  has  learned  Gretchen’s 
fate,  and  the  “ Prison”  scene.  We  shall  best  begin  with  the 
third,  in  Order  that  we  may  continue  the  subject  we  have 
just  been  discussing,  and  thus  follow  the  Gretchen  tragedy 
to  its  close. 

In  the  Valentine  scene  Goethe  has  merely  completed 
what  was  planned  from  the  beginning  and  for  the  most  part 
worked  out  in  the  Ur  jaust.  Its  outward  purpose  is  to  give 
rise  to  an  occasion  making  it  necessary  for  Faust  to  leave 
the  city,  which  he  must  do  as  the  murderer  of  Valentine. 
In  substance  it  is  intended  to  deepen  the  tragicalness  of 
the  drama.  The  whole  family  is  brought  to  ruin;  even 
Gretchen’s  good,  innocent  brother  becomes  a victim  of  her 
unholy  love.  Besides,  Faust  himself  becomes  more  deeply 
involved  in  guilt.  He  is  the  seducer  of  Gretchen,  who  in 
turn  kills  her  mother  and  her  child ; while  he  himself  slays 
her  brother  with  his  sword,  though  half  in  self-defence. 
Finally,  the  scene  is  a companion  piece  to  that  between 
Gretchen  and  Lieschen  at  the  fountain.  First  the  judg- 
ment  of  evil  tongues,  the  conventionally  judging  world; 
now  the  judgment  of  good  people  conceming  the  poor 
innocent,  and  yet  guilty,  maiden,  the  curse  of  the  upright, 
which  makes  Gretchen’s  dishonour  complete.  A tre- 
mendous  effect  is  achieved  by  the  lightning  flashes  and 
sledge-hammer  blows  of  this  intensely  dramatic  scene. 
The  figure  of  the  honest,  true-hearted  lansquenet  shows 


jfauöt 


297 


a degree  of  realistic  and  true-to-nature  portrayal  of  na- 
tional traits  not  often  found  in  Goethe’s  characters.  The 
analogy  to  Clavigo  is  worthy  of  note.  In  each  case  there 
is  a brother  who  fights  for  the  honour  of  his  sister;  but  in 
Clavigo  Beaumarchais  comes  off  victor,  whereas  in  Faust 
Valentine  is  slain  by  the  seducer. 

While  Gretchen’s  fate  is  being  realised  Faust  hastens 
with  Mephistopheles  to  the  Brocken  for  Walpurgis  Night. 
The  scene  fills  out  the  pause  entertainingly,  and  we  must 
not  hold  the  poet  to  too  strict  an  account  of  the  number 
of  months  and  days.  Gretchen  vanishes  from  the  sight 
of  the  audience  throughout  a long  scene.  Meanwhile  that 
which  must  happen  may  take  place.  It  is  the  purpose  of 
Mephistopheles  that  as  she  passes  out  of  Faust’s  sight  she 
shall  also  pass  out  of  his  mind.  The  devil’s  desire  to  ruin 
Faust  is  the  reason  for  involving  him  in  the  affair  with 
Gretchen,  which  has  led  to  murder  and  homicide.  But  it 
is  not  his  intention  that  Faust  shall  witness  the  disastrous 
end  of  Gretchen.  That  would  only  produce  remorse  in 
his  breast  and  arouse  his  better  nature.  So  he  must  spirit 
him  away.  It  will  suit  his  purpose  best  to  lead  him  into 
new  complications,  above  all  into  coarse  pleasures,  drag- 
ging  him  deeper  and  deeper  into  guilt  and  sin,  into  sen- 
suality  and  vulgarity.  Such  being  the  reasoning  of 
Mephistopheles  he  takes  Faust  with  him  to  the  witches’ 
rendezvous  with  Satan. 

Again  he  makes  a mistake  in  his  reckoning,  and  this 
time  a double  one.  Faust  is  expected  to  forget  Gretchen 
and  yet  in  this  very  place  he  is  reminded  of  her  by  an  ap- 
parition,  that  eidolon  of  which,  it  is  true,  Mephistopheles 
says  lightly,  “To  every  man  she  seems  his  own  beloved.” 
And  not  only  does  she  remind  him  theo.retically,  so  to  speak, 
of  his  beloved;  he  even  sees  her  fate  embodied  in  this  un- 
canny  creature,  or  at  least  suggested  by  it:  “How  strangely 
round  this  loveliest  of  throats  A single  crimson  band  is 
gleaming,  No  broader  than  a knife’s  back  seeming.  ” The 
bloody  mark  of  the  headsman’s  axe — how  terrible,  how 
awful!  What  a presentiment  for  the  soul  of  Faust!  That 


298 


TLbe  üLife  of  (Soetbe 


it  was  really  Goethe’s  intention  to  make  Faust  here  leam 
Gretchen’s  fate  is  shown  more  plainly  by  a passage  in  the 
paralipomena,  where  we  read,  “ Prattle  of  changelings 
whereby  Faust  is  informed.”  Immediately  afterward,  in 
the  scene  “Dismal  Day — A Field, ” he  knows  her  whole 
terrible  fate. 

The  second  mistake  in  Mephistopheles’s  reckoning  is 
his  plan  to  drag  Faust,  while  on  the  Brocken,  into  vulgarity 
and  sin  and  to  let  him  sink  in  this  swamp.  True,  it  does 
seem  for  a moment  as  though  Faust,  in  his  dance  with  the 
young  witch,  were  allowing  himself  to  be  dragged  down  to 
the  lowest  sensuality;  but  when  a little  red  mouse  jumps 
out  of  her  mouth  he  is  naturally  disgusted,  and  lets  the 
fair  damsel  go.  At  this  moment  his  thoughts  go  back  to 
Gretchen,  and  how  could  he  find  pleasure  in  the  young 
witch  any  more?  Thus  he  is  saved  by  Gretchen,  his  good 
angel,  the  Etemal-Womanly,  and  he  is  saved  by  his  own 
better  nature,  from  sinking  into  common  sensuality,  as 
Mephistopheles  has  planned. 

So  far  everything  is  in  Order;  but  this  cannot  be  said  of 
the  final  elaboration  of  the  whole  scene.  On  the  way  up 
the  Brocken  Mephistopheles  invites  Faust  to  avoid  the 
worst  throng,  to  let  the  great  world  rave  and  riot,  and  to 
retire  to  the  quiet  of  a valley  to  one  side  and  there  join  an 
isolated  club.  Faust  replies : “ I ’d  rather  scale  yon  towering 
peak,  Where  fire  and  whirling  smoke  I see.  The  Evil  One 
by  throngs  is  pressed ; There  many  a riddle  must  be  guessed.” 
What  does  he  expect  to  find  there?  Revelations  concem- 
ing  evil,  the  solution  of  the  mystery  of  evil.  The  old  thirst 
for  knowledge  awakes  in  him;  he  desires  not  only  to  ex- 
perience  and  enjoy  the  evil,  but  also  to  understand  it  and 
find  a philosophical  reason  for  its  existence.  The  answer 
by  means  of  which  Mephistopheles  turns  him  aside  from 
his  purpose,  “ But  riddles  new  will  offered  be,  ” is  no  answer 
at  all.  For  a reflective  mind  such  a thing  goes  without 
saying.  Instead  of  frightening  him  away  it  should  Iure 
him  on.  It  was  not  Goethe’s  original  intention  to  dismiss 
us  with  this  subterfuge,  but  really  to  take  Faust  to  the 


jfauöt 


299 


summit,  where  a revelation  of  the  evil  was  to  be  delivered 
by  Satan  himself,  a diabolical  parallel  to  the  röle  of  Christ 
at  the  last  judgment.  We  have  parts  of  the  address  by 
Satan  in  the  paralipomena ; but  the  whole  scene  is  worked  out 
with  such  “impious  daring,”  is  so  vulgär — Goethe  here 
vies  with  Aristophanes  in  obscenities — that  he  rightly 
hesitated  to  insert  it  in  the  text  of  the  drama ; and  so  it  was 
dropped. 

There  is  another  point  to  be  considered  in  this  Con- 
nection. Goethe  here  paints  the  evil  almost  exclusively 
as  base  sensuality,  which  is  proper,  so  long  as,  at  the  mo- 
ment,  it  is  a question  only  of  Faust,  whom  Mephistopheles 
is  seeking  to  drag  down  into  these  very  depths  of  sensual 
evil.  But  this  conception  would  have  been  one-sided  and 
inadequate  in  the  mouth  of  Satan,  if  he  had  attempted  to 
make  us  understand  evil  as  such,  and  to  give  us  a revela- 
tion of  hell  in  contrast  to  the  “ Prologue  in  Heaven.” 
That  would  have  been  no  solution  of  the  great  enigma  and 
would  have  given  rise  to  no  new  problems.  More  than 
that:  Base  sensuality  is  not  a devilish  evil  at  all,  it  is  only 

a human  evil;  for  which  reason  it  is  not  ineradicable  and 
not  unpardonable,  and  therein  lies  the  possibility  of  Sal- 
vation for  Faust.  Still  less,  of  course,  is  it  the  evil  which 
is  represented  in  that  valley  to  one  side  as  the  reactionary 
and,  in  comparison  with  aspiring  youth,  the  antiquated, 
and  which  is  intended  to  symbolise  the  evil  in  state  and 
society.  Thus  the  riddle  was  really  left  unsolved,  and  the 
“Walpurgis  Night”  remained  a fragment.  This,  of  course, 
is  to  a certain  extent  unsatisfactory.* 

There  is  another  objectionable  feature  of  the  scene. 
Apart  from  a few  allusions  in  the  “Witches’  Kitchen”  we 
have  here  the  first  plain  example  of  that  symbolising, 
allegorising  tendency  which  we  are  to  meet  much  more 
frequently  in  the  Second  Part,  that  tendency  to  make  of 
the  drama  a convenient  depository  for  extraneous  thoughts 
and  allusions  and  mar  it  by  the  uncalled-for  insertion  of 

* Georg  Witkowski’s  Die  Walpurgisnacht  im  esten  Teile  von  Goethes 
Faust  is  an  excellent  monograph  on  the  sources  of  this  scene. — C. 


3°° 


Zhe  Xi fe  of  Goetbe 


all  sorts  of  mysteries.  As  it  was  not  a question  of  a revela- 
tion  of  evil  in  general,  the  various  parts  of  the  scene  must 
either  have  reference  to  Faust  or  be  left  out.  Hence  we 
have  no  cause  to  regret  the  dropping  of  that  scene  on  the 
summit ; we  regret  f ar  more  that  many  other  parts  were  not 
expunged  or  were  not  left  out  in  the  first  place. 

The  worst  of  all  is  the  intermezzo,  “ Walpurgis  Night’s 
Dream — Oberon  and  Titania’s  Golden  Wedding,”  which 
is  nothing  but  a lot  of  Xenien  that  were  left  over  fromthe 
great  Xenien  war  of  1796.  They  are  literary  and  political 
satires  on  contemporaries  and  the  phenomena  of  the  day, 
and  have  nothing  to  do  with  Faust.  On  account  of  their 
temporary  tendency  they  are  throughout  of  an  ephemeral 
nature,  and  we  need  a commentary  to-day  in  order  to 
understand  them.  This  is  a serious  fault  which  we  must 
not  seek  to  cover  up  or  factitiously  explain  away.  Rather 
we  should  admit  frankly  that  it  is  a fault  and  as  such 
condemn  it. 

For  these  reasons  the  impression  left  by  the  “ Walpurgis 
Night”  as  a whole  is  not  pleasant  throughout  and  not 
esthetically  pure,  in  spite  of  the  grandeur  and  beauty  of 
certain  portions.  Faust’s  ascent  of  the  Brocken,  the 
feverish,  frantic  commotion  of  all  nature,  the  disorderly 
flight  of  the  witches,  the  fantastic  twilight  of  the  scenery 
— these  are  genuine  poetry.  But  the  flight  of  fancv  grows 
gradually  more  languid  and  ends  at  last  in  the  swamp  of 
satirical  allusions.  Even  in  the  matter  of  style  Goethe  is 
not  uniformly  successful  in  retaining  the  old  force  and 
richness.  When  Faust  says  of  the  eidolon,  “ It  seems  to 
me,  I must  confess,  She  Gretchen’s  features  doth  possess,” 
this  does  not  seem  to  be  discovered  by  Faust  himself,  but 
by  the  poet,  who  has  grown  cool  and  reserved  and  Stands 
high  and  far  above  the  scene,  in  perfect  composure  of  soul. 

We  soon  return,  however,  to  the  sacred  ground  of 
purest  poetry  and  deepest  tragedy.  First  in  that  unique 
prose  scene,  one  of  the  oldest  portions  of  Faust.  It  dates 
back  to  Goethe’s  Storm-and-Stress  period  and  breathes 
the  colossal  genius  of  a Shakespeare.  The  poet  very 


Jfaust 


301 


properly  retained  for  it  the  prose  form  of  the  TJrfaust.  The 
harsh  tones  in  which  Faust  gives  expression  to  hishorror 
at  Gretchen’s  fate  and  his  loathing  of  Mephistopheles  must 
not  be  softened  by  the  modulating  power  of  verse.  The 
next  scene  is  a brief  one,  full  of  feeling  and  dire  forebod- 
ing,  in  which  Faust  and  Mephistopheles,  on  black  steeds, 
rush  by  the  uncanny  conclave  of  witches  on  the  place  of 
execution. 

Finally  we  come  to  the  “Prison”  scene,  and  here  all 
the  woe  of  mankind  overwhelms  us.  It  is  tragical  and 
poetical  through  and  through.  Goethe  recast  it  from  the 
original  prose  form  into  verse  in  the  year  1798.  He  wrote 
concerning  it  to  Schiller : “ Some  tragical  scenes  were  written 
in  prose,  and,  in  comparison  with  the  rest,  they  are  made 
quite  intolerable  by  their  naturalness  and  strength.  So 
I am  now  seeking  to  put  them  into  rhyme,  in  order  that 
the  idea  may  appear  as  through  a veil  and  the  immediate 
effect  of  the  monstrous  subject-matter  be  softened.”  It 
was  indeed  a subduing,  veiling,  idealising  process,  but  of 
the  objectionable  padding,  which  critics  have  pretended 
to  find  even  in  this  scene,  there  is  not  a trace.  How  cor- 
rectly  Goethe  was  able  to  calculate  the  effect  will  be  shown 
more  clearly  by  an  example  than  in  any  other  way: 

ftfet  meine  SJtutter  auf  einem  ©tem, 

@8  fafjtmid)  falt  beim  ©cfjopfe! 

£)a  fijjt  meine  8Jiutter  auf  einem  ©tein 
Unb  roacfelt  mit  bem  Äopfe.  * 

The  picture  is  comical,  and  yet  who  dares  to  laugh  at  it  ? 
Who  does  not  feel  how  the  grew'some  element  is  increased 
by  the  seemingly  comical,  until  it  is  physically  almost 
intolerable?  But  the  singing,  ballad  nature  of  the  lines 
makes  it  endurable,  because  it  is  entirely  fitting  in  the 
mouth  of  this  child  of  the  common  people. 

The  scene  is  an  excellent  illustration  of  the  correctness 

* My  mother  is  sitting  on  yonder  stone, — 

My  brain  is  cold  with  dread! 

My  mother  is  sitting  on  yonder  stone, 

And  see!  she  wags  her  head! 


302 


ZTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


of  Lessing’s  law  of  the  most  fruitful  moment,  which  he 
says  the  artist  must  choose.  Preceding  it  is  the  grewsome- 
ness  of  the  double  murder,  following  it  the  grewsome- 
ness  of  the  execution.  We  witness  neither  act,  and  vet 
the  scene  makes  us  divine  both  with  most  awful  vividness, 
as  though  we  actually  saw  everything  with  our  own  eyes. 

The  effect  is  heightened  by  Gretchen’s  visionary,  hal- 
lucinatory  state.  She  is  not  insane,  as  actresses  usually 
make  her  out  to  be,  for  the  sake  of  their  convenience,  as 
though  she  were  an  Ophelia.  What  she  once  sang  at  the 
spinning  wheel  is  now  more  true  than  ever : “ My  poor, 
poor  head  is  lost  and  crazed ; My  poor,  poor  mind  is  wrecked 
and  dazed.  ” Drawn  out  of  her  whole  outward  and  inward 
existence,  in  love,  betrayed,  forsaken,  led  into  deepest 
guilt,  in  remorse  and  despair,  in  mortal  terror  and  hellish 
torment,  it  is  quite  natural  that  her  poor  head  should  be 
lost  and  crazed  and  her  poor  mind  be  wrecked  and  dazed. 
She  hardly  knows  where  she  is,  what  has  happened  to  her, 
and  what  she  herseif  has  done.  In  her  beloved,  who  desires 
to  liberate  her,  she  sees  now  her  friend,  now  a stranger 
whom  she  fears.  She  sees  her  mother,  and  the  child  that 
she  has  drowned,  and  she  sees  hell  yawning  at  her  feet. 
One  moment  happy,  she  believes  it  is  all  an  ugly  dream; 
the  next  moment,  terrified,  she  recognises  the  awful  reality. 
She  did  not  commit  the  crime  of  infanticide  as  one  irre- 
sponsible,  but,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  phrase,  in  a moment 
of  impaired  responsibility.  And  so  even  now  she  is  not 
insane;  she  dare  not  be,  for  what  she  does  now  is  counted 
toward  her  penance,  atonement,  purification,  salvation, 
and  redemption.  Man  can  perform  a moral  act  only  when 
he  is  responsible.  To  be  sure,  it  is  almost  a ph)’sical  ne- 
cessity  that  she  should  not  follow  Faust  out  of  the  prison. 
But  why?  Merely  because  her  pure,  innocent  nature  as- 
serts  itself,  because  her  purity  and  innocence  are  stronger 
even  than  her  love;  or  because  her  love,  in  spite  of  all  her 
guilt,  has  remained  pure  and  innocent.  As  at  the  fountain 
she  took  the  judgment  of  the  world  upon  herseif  as  just, 
so  now  she,  who  is  so  fond  of  life  and  has  such  a wholesome 


tfaust 


303 


fear  of  death,  willingly  takes  upon  herseif  as  a necessity 
the  condemnation  of  earthly  justice,  and  submits  herseif 
to  the  judgment  of  God  in  order  to  save  her  soul.  Thus 
she  is  a figure  at  once  pathetic  and  exalted.  Pathetic  in  her 
childlike  subjection  to  physical  necessity;  exalted  in  her 
moral  Submission  to  the  headsman’s  axe.  In  her  own  way 
she  is  almost  as  great  as  Socrates,  who,  in  order  to  avoid 
doing  wrong,  refused  to  escape  from  prison. 

Finally,  when  Mephistopheles,  who  has  always  been  to 
her  an  uncanny  creature,  emerges  from  the  ground,  she 
cries  to  heaven,  calls  upon  her  Father  in  heaven  to  save 
his  child,  and  then  turns  away  from  Faust,  with  the  words 
‘ ‘ Heinrich ! I shudder  to  think  of  thee . ” “ She  is  j udged ! ’ ’ 
says  Mephistopheles;  “ Is  saved,”  comes  a voice  from 
above.  “Is  saved,”  say  we  also,  saved  because  she  does 
not  seek  to  escape  judgment,  so  that  from  being  guilty  she 
has  again  become  innocent.  “Hither  to  me!”  says  Me- 
phistopheles to  Faust  and  vanishes  with  him. 

Thus  ends  the  Gretchen  tragedy  and  the  First  Part  of 
Faust.  But  is  it  really  the  end?  Is  Faust  lost  and  fallen 
into  the  power  of  the  devil,  as  Gretchen  is  saved?  So  it 
seems,  and  yet  we  cannot,  we  will  not  believe  it.  The 
voice  of  the  Eternal-Womanly  calls  after  him.  “Heinrich, 
Heinrich!”  sounds  a voice  from  within,  dying  away.  Love 
has  seized  his  soul  and  will  not  let  him  go.  Will  it  be  strong 
enough  to  hold  him,  or  will  there  be  other  means  of  saving 
him?  Or,  to  put  the  question  differently:  Here  in  the 
prison,  where  all  the  woe  of  mankind  overwhelms  Faust, 
where  out  of  his  pangs  of  grief  and  pain  he  cries,  “Oh,  that 
I had  never  been  born!”  is  he  more  firmly  bound  to  the 
infamous  companion,  who  has  no  words  for  Gretchen’s 
misery  except  the  utterly  diabolical,  though  painfully  true, 
“She  is  not  the  first  one”  ; or  has  he  not,  rather,  become 
inwardly  estranged  from  him  and  drawn  far  away  from  him  ? 
Will  he  remain  in  the  power  of  the  devil,  or  has  he  here 
gained  the  strength  to  tear  himself  away?  Must  Faust  go 
to  perdition,  or  can  he  be  saved?  This  question  of  his 
destiny  now  becomes  the  fundamental  question  of  the  First 


304 


Gbe  Ulfe  of  (Boetbe 


Part.  It  does  not  lead  us  on  to  the  Second  Part,  but  back 
to  the  beginning  of  the  drama,  especially  the  “Prologue 
in  Heaven.  ” 

We  must  go  somewhat  farther  back.46  When  Goethe 
began  to  write  Faust  and  to  attempt  to  objectify  in  the  hero 
the  struggles  of  his  own  spirit,  he  did  not  know  whether 
the  sun-chariot  of  his  life,  rushing  on  at  stormy  speed, 
should  reach  the  height  or  plunge  into  the  abyss  and  be 
dashed  to  pieces;  that  is,  in  terms  of  the  poem,  he  did  not 
know  whether  Faust  should  fall  into  the  power  of  the  devil 
or  should  be  torn  away  from  him  and  be  saved,  though 
final  salvation  was  the  more  natural  thing  for  him  to  think 
of  and  the  thing  he  hoped  for,  both  for  himself  and  Faust. 
When  he  again  took  up  his  work  on  Faust  in  the  nineties 
the  darkness  had  been  illuminated,  the  question  had  been 
decided,  so  far  as  he  himself  was  concemed.  His  sun- 
chariot  had  borne  him  up  to  the  shining  heights  of  life,  the 
Storm  and  Stress  had  spent  its  rage,  the  new  wine  had 
passed  through  its  fermentation  and  become  generous  and 
mellow.  Goethe  was  saved.  Shall  we  say  that  the  ques- 
tion was  then  settled  for  Faust  also?  For  the  poet  the 
problem  was  not  so  simple  as  that.  He  had  meantime  out- 
grown  the  Faust  of  the  seventies,  but  Faust  had  also  out- 
grown  him.  This  means  two  great  difficulties  in  the  way 
of  the  continuation  and  completion  of  the  work. 

Düring  this  period  had  taken  place  the  well-known 
great  change  in  Goethe’s  style,  that  is,  the  transition  from 
Shakespearian  realism  and  naturalism  to  classical  idealism. 
This,  of  course,  was  not  an  arbitrary  act  on  the  part  of 
Goethe,  but  as  is  the  man  so  is  his  style.  He  himself  had 
changed,  had  grown  more  reposeful,  more  moderate,  and 
more  and  more  wise.  Hence  in  the  Olvmpic  repose  of 
classical  antiquity,  with  its  well-proportioned  beauty  and 
its  typical  figures,  he  now  found  his  model  and  his  ideal, 
because  in  it  he  found  himself  again.  And  however  much 
we  may  regret  the  fact,  we  must  admit  that  this  classicist 
Goethe  had  outgrown  Faust. 

The  form  of  the  Faust  fragment  is  the  Hans  Sachsian 


Jfaust 


305 


Knittelvers;  the  manner  of  expression  is  natural,  often  even 
coarse;  the  rhymes  are  effective,  though  not  always  pure, 
are  at  times  even  dialectically  very  impure.  But  who  has 
time  to  pay  heed  to  such  things?  And  do  not  these  bold 
Knittelverse  impress  us  Germans  as  flesh  of  our  own  flesh 
and  blood  of  our  own  blood,  as  though  this  were  the  genuine 
Germanic  verse,  cut  out  to  measure  to  fit  this  very  body? 
The  coarse  in  them  is  coarse,  as  the  best  pictures  of  Rubens 
are  coarse,  vigorous,  robust,  natural,  and  genuine  through 
and  through,  with  no  artificiality  apparent,  and  for  that 
very  reason  works  of  the  highest  art,  “common”  in  that 
best  sense  of  the  word  in  which  Conrad  Ferdinand  Meyer 
once  used  it  in  speaking  of  Luther: 

©emetn  raie  fiteb  unb  3orn  unb  Sßflidjt, 

2Bie  unfrer  Äinber  Slngeficfjt, 

9Bie  §of  unb  §eim,  roie  ©alj  unb  33rot, 

SSBie  bie  ©eburt  unb  rate  ber  £ob.  * 

The  verses,  in  spite  of  their  imperfections,  which  we 
do  not  notice,  are  especially  effective  because  they  are  so 
full  of  sparkling  wit,  and  always  bear  the  stamp  of  genius, 
and  because  the  moment  the  heart  speaks  instead  of  the 
intellect  the  language  assumes  such  an  inward  and  cordial 
sound,  such  a full,  deep  tone,  and  suits  itself  so  aptly  and 
completely  to  the  finest  and  most  delicate  shades  of  feeling, 
that  we  cannot  imagine  content  and  form  more  perfectly 
blended  together. 

Such  is  our  feeling  to-day  concerning  the  First  Part  of 
Faust,  but  it  was  not  the  feeling  of  the  poet  himself  in  the 
last  decade  of  the  Century.  Even  the  “Dedication”  shows 
that.  “Wavering  figures,  ” “clouded  vision,”  “fantastic 
idea,  ” “foggy  mist” — such  are  the  terms  in  which  he 
referred  to  it.  And  in  his  correspondence  with  Schiller 
he  spoke  also  of  this  “ foggy,  misty  path,  ” on  which  he  had 
for  a time  feit  forced  to  “ stray  about.  ” He  called  the 

* Common  as  love  and  hate  and  duty, 

Common  as  childhood’s  tender  beauty, 

As  house  and  home,  as  salt  and  bread, 

As  birth’s  proud  joy  and  death’s  cold  dread. 

VOL.  III, — 20. 


3°6 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


whole  a “barbaric  composition,  ” and  designated  as  “buf- 
foonery”  and  “ caricatures  ” the  scenes  and  figures  which 
appear  to  us  to-day  so  serious  and  true  to  nature,  not  to 
say,  sacred.  Schiller,  who  was  just  as  classical  as  his  friend, 
agreed  with  him  as  to  the  “ barbaric  nature  of  his  treatment 
of  the  subject”  and  himself  called  the  fable  “harsh  and 
formless.  ” This  disdainful  attitude  toward  Faust  at  that 
time  is  perhaps  the  simplest  explanation  of  the  factthat 
Goethe  could  treat  the  work  so  inconsiderately,  could  insert 
so  thoughtlessly  all  sorts  of  irrelevant  things  in  the  “ bar- 
baric composition,”  and  make  of  it  a depositorv  for  a 
number  of  Xenien,  for  which  he  could  find  no  other  place. 

What  was  it  that  helped  to  overcome  this  hindrance, 
this  difficulty  of  style  ? What  was  it  that  simply  compelled 
Goethe  to  overcome  it,  and  brought  him  back  to  Faust  time 
after  time?  Goethe  had  outgrown  Faust,  it  is  true;  but 
Faust  had  also  outgrown  Goethe.  Goethe  himself  was 
Faust  as  he  conceived  him.  In  his  hero  he  objectified 
himself,  and  laid  down,  so  to  speak,  a general  confession. 
First  of  all,  Faust  was  animated  by  the  spirit  of  the  eigh- 
teenth  Century;  he  bore  the  features  of  Goethe’s  time  and 
embodied  in  himself  the  best  there  was  in  that  period. 
Every  important  man  is  a representative  of  universal  hu- 
man characteristics ; but  of  Goethe,  the  most  universal 
of  men,  this  was  pre-eminently  true.  Hence  the  more 
subjectively  and  more  profoundly  he  painted  himself  in 
Faust,  the  more  typical  and  objective  his  picture  must  be. 
Faust  thus  became  a picture  of  humanity  striving,  strug- 
gling,  erring,  and  yet  ever  finding  the  way  back  to  the  right 
path.  He  became  symbolical.  And  herein  lies  the  key 
to  the  Second  Part. 

Let  us  not  misunderstand  this  point.  Symbolical  does 
not  mean  allegorical.  The  allegorical  lacks  life,  lacks 
flesh  and  blood,  and  independent  existence.  It  exists  only 
as  a sign.  The  picture  itself  is  of  minor  importance;  what 
it  signifies  is  everything.  Hence  allegor)’  is  a matter  of 
reflection,  is  not  real  poetry.  True  poetry,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  symbolical.  First  the  objective  picture,  some- 


307 


tfaust 

thing  in  itself,  a full,  round,  complete,  independent  whole. 
Then  there  is,  besides,  something  that  lies  in  this  and  towers 
above  it,  something  higher  and  more  general,  not  added  to 
it  artificially,  by  reflection,  but  growing  out  of  it  naturally 
and  necessarily.  In  this  sense  Faust  is  symbolical.  He 
is  himself,  and  beyond  this  is  a representative  of  mankind 
in  general.  He  is  the  two  in  one  and  inseparable. 

The  more  profound  the  fancy  of  the  poet,  the  richer 
is  his  work  in  ideas.  Richer  in  ideas,  but  not  as  the  result 
of  reflection  alone.  And  so,  we  may  say  frankly,  there  is 
necessarily  a philosophical  element  in  Faust.  The  reason 
that  Goethe,  in  his  classic  period,  was  able  and  eager  to 
return  to  the  drama,  was  because  the  classic  is  typical,  not 
merely  individual  and  characteristic.  It  was  for  the  same 
reason  that  his  philosophical  friend  Schiller  urged  him  so 
energetically  to  return  to  Faust  and  would  not  let  him 
give  it  up.  Both  considered  the  typical  an  especially  im- 
portant feature  of  the  antique  tragedy;  and  Faust  was  also 
typical  and  symbolical,  however  individual  and  charac- 
teristic it  may  have  been.  Hence  we  find  in  Schiller’ s in- 
fluence  the  bond  between  the  first  conception  of  the  drama 
and  the  renewed  work  on  it  in  the  period  when  Goethe 
affected  the  antique. 

In  the  thing  which  brought  Goethe  back  to  Faust  there 
lay  a new  difficulty,  which  made  it  again  impossible  for 
him  to  finish  the  work.  Schiller  saw  the  difficulty  at  once 
when  Goethe  announced  to  him  his  determination  to  resume 
work  on  the  drama.  On  the  236.  of  June,  1797,  he  wrote: 
“All  that  I shall  say  at  present  is  that  Faust,  with  all  its 
poetic  individuality,  cannot  entirely  ignore  the  requirement 
of  a symbolic  significance,  as  you  wrill  probably  agree  with 
me.  One  never  loses  sight  of  the  duplicity  of  human  nature 
and  the  abortive  attempt  to  unite  the  divine  and  the  physical 
in  man;  and  as  the  fable  has  harsh  and  formless  features 
one  does  not  desire  to  stop  with  the  subject -matter  itself, 
but  to  be  led  by  it  to  ideas.  In  short  the  requirements 
of  Faust  are  both  philosophical  and  poetical,  and,  seek  as 
you  may  to  avoid  the  philosophical  treatment,  the  nature 


3o8  £be  Xifc  of  (Soetbe 

of  the  subject  will  force  it  upon  you,  and  the  Imagination 
will  have  to  accommodate  itself  to  the  Service  of  an  idea 
of  the  reason. ” 

These  thoughts  were  nothing  new  to  Goethe.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  had  already  begun  to  do  what,  according 
to  Schiller,  he  should  do  in  the  future  continuation  of  the 
work.  And  yet  there  was  something  new.  What  Goethe 
had  hitherto  done  unconsciously  and  involuntarily  he  was 
now  to  do  with  full  consciousness,  and  it  was  not  in  him  as 
a poet  to  do  it.  He  was  to  become  a philosopher,  but  he 
was  no  philosopher.  The  real  Situation  was  once  very 
aptly  put  in  these  words : “ And  Schiller’s  answer  wakened 
this  somnambulist.  He  was  frightened,  stood  amazed,  and 
for  the  moment  knew  less  than  ever  how  to  proceed.  ” Thus 
through  Schiller’s  influence  Goethe  resumed  work  on  Faust, 
and  through  his  influence  the  drama  was  once  more  put 
aside  as  a fragment.  Glorious  and  natural  as  are  on  the 
whole  the  scenes  that  Goethe  composed  under  this  influ- 
ence, the  “ Prologue  in  Heaven”  especially,  Faust’s  second 
monologue,  and  the  compact  with  the  devil,  nevertheless 
it  must  be  said  that  in  certain  details  they  bear  traces  of 
the  combination  of  the  philosophical  and  the  poetical. 

The  “Prologue”  is  an  overture  and  a prelude,  but  at 
the  same  time  it  points  to  the  outcome  and  the  end.  It 
begins  in  heaven.  Can  that  which  is  begun  in  heaven  end 
in  hell,  especially  if  the  Lord  pledges  his  word  that  the 
outcome  shall  be  exactly  the  opposite?  No,  such  a thing 
would  not  be  possible.  But  does  not  the  immediately 
preceding  “Prelude  on  the  Stage,”  the  humorous  apology 
with  which  Goethe  in  1808  sent  Faust  out  into  the  world 
a second  time  as  a fragment,  say  expressly  that  it  does? 

©0  fdjreitet  in  bem  engen  ÜBrctterfyaue 
®cn  gangen  £tei3  bcr  ©djöpfttng  au$, 

Unb  raanbelt  mit  bebädit’ger  ©cfmclle 
S5om  $immel  burdj  bie  SBelt  gnr  §5He.* 

*Then  let  upon  our  narrow  boards  appear 
Creation’s  whole  unbounded  sphere, 

And  journey,  under  fancy’s  spell, 

From  heaven  through  the  world  to  hell. 


309 


tfaust 

Does  not  the  last  line  say  plainly  that  the  play  is  to 
begin  in  heaven  and  end  in  hell?  It  seems  so,  and  yet  it 
cannot  be.  Goethe’s  optimism  could  not  permit  mankind 
to  end  in  hell,  and  according  to  the  “Prologue”  Faust  was 
not  to  fall  completely  into  the  power  of  the  devil.  Hence 
we  are  justified  in  saying  that  it  is  the  manager  who  speaks 
these  words.  He  knows  only  the  legend,  not  the  plot  of 
the  play,  knows  only  the  scenes,  which  he  arranges  to  suit 
himself,  according  to  the  usual  custom  of  beginning  at  the 
top  and  ending  at  the  bottom.  It  is  not  his  place  to  teil 
us  where  the  journey  shall  end;  that  is  reserved  for  the 
poet  in  the  “Prologue.” 

The  “Prologue”  begins  with  the  glorious  song  of  the 
archangels,  a hymn  to  the  cosmic  order  and  wonderful  har- 
mony  of  the  world . Some  critics  have  wrongly  found  fault 
with  it  as  having  no  Connection  with  human  morality. 
The  moral  world  is  expressly  described  as  chaotic  and 
wavering,  in  contrast  with  the  reign  of  eternal  law  in  nature. 
Its  representative  is  Mephistopheles,  as  opposed  to  the 
Lord  and  his  uncomprehended,  lofty  wrorks.  But  the 
Lord  knows  that  the  moral  world  bears  some  relation  to 
the  natural  and  has  laws  of  its  own,  for  he  says  of  it: 

SBcifs  bod)  ber  ©ärtner,  roenn  ba$  ÜBäumdjen  grünt, 

®aj3  ÜBlüt’  unb  grudjt  bie  fiinft’gen  Sa^rc  gieren.* 

He  thus  applies  the  natural  law  of  organic  development  to 
the  moral  world,  and,  in  his  divine  wisdom,  fits  it  into  that 
harmony  of  the  world  of  which  the  angels  sing. 

Along  with  the  archangels  Mephistopheles  appears 
“among  the  servants.”  The  devil  in  heaven!  That,  it 
would  seem,  teils  the  whole  story.  The  evil  one  is  not  free 
and  independent,  not  separate  and  apart  from  the  All- 
embracer;  on  the  contrary,  he  is  in  the  Service  of  God  and 
forms  a factor  in  his  world  plan.  But  why  is  he  given  to 
man  for  a companion  ? To  this  question  the  Lord  answers : 

sDfenfd)en  Jütigfcit  fann  aüju  leidjt  er(d)!affcn, 

Sr  liebt  fid)  halb  bic  nnbebingte  3tnb; 

* Well  knows  the  gardener,  when  the  green  appears, 

That  flower  and  fruit  will  crown  the  coming  years. 


3io 


Gbe  %\fc  of  (Boetbe 


Trum  geb'  id)  gern  iljm  ben  ©efeHen  gu, 

^er  reigt  unb  mirft  unb  muji  als  Teufel  fdjaffen.* 

Thus  Goethe  considers  the  evil  the  goad  of  negation,  which 
stimulates  and  influences,  actually  producing  in  its  own 
way  positive  results.  Viewed  sub  specie  ceternitatis,  it  is 
not  an  evil,  but  a remedy,  a good  fortune,  at  least  a 
necessity  for  the  development  of  mankind,  a means  of 
education  for  the  human  race.f  Of  course  the  finite  un- 
derstanding  of  Mephistopheles  cannot  comprehend  this. 
Compared  with  the  infinitely  optimistic  Lord,  he  is  the 
pessimist,  who  not  only  considers  everything  extremely 
bad,  but  fails  utterly  to  recognise  growth,  development, 
and  progress.  “ The  little  god  of  the  world  still  lives  the 
same  old  way,  And  is  as  singulär  as  on  creation ’s  day,  ” 
is  his  opinion. 

The  Lord  himself  singles  out  Faust,  whom  he  calls  his 
servant.  To  the  devil’s  scoffmg  remark,  that  this  servant 
serves  his  master  in  an  odd  way,  the  Lord  answers : “ Though 
now  he  serve  me  in  confusion’s  dark,  I shall  ere  long  con- 
duct  him  to  the  light.”  Mephistopheles  doubts  this  and, 
being  noted  for  his  impertinence,  öfters  the  Lord  the  wager, 
“ Him  thou  yet  shalt  lose,  If  leave  to  me  thou  wilt  but  give 
Gently  to  lead  him  as  I choose.  ” The  Lord  accepts  the 
wager,  granting  the  devil  leave  to  seek  to  carry  out  his 
designs.  A wager  between  God  and  the  devil,  and  the 
subject  of  it  the  soul  and  etemal  happiness  of  a human 
being!  Is  that  not  blasphemy?  Goethe  is  not  open  to 
this  reproof,  for  the  bold  idea  did  not  originate  with  him. 
It  is  the  introduction  to  the  book  of  Job,  which  served  him 
as  a model  and  a justification.  The  only  question  that 
might  be  raised,  if  question  there  be,  which  we  doubt,  is: 
Which  prologue  is  more  profound  and  more  sublime,  the 
one  to  the  Germanic  Faust,  or  the  one  to  the  Hebraic  Job  f 

* Too  quick  doth  man’s  activity  degenerate, 

He  soon  would  fain  in  perfect  quiet  live; 

Hence  I to  him  this  comrade  gladly  give, 

Who,  spurring  on,  as  devil  must  create. 
t An  illuminating  discussion  of  the  mystery  of  evil  in  the  world  may 
be  found  in  Fiske’s  Through  Nature  to  God. — C. 


ffauet 


3” 

What  do  the  two  wager?  Mephistopheles  says:  God 
will  lose  Faust,  I shall  bring  him  to  the  point  where  he 
sha.11  eat  dust  and  that  with  delight,  I shall  draw  him  away 
from  his  original  source,  I shall  lead  him  down  along  my 
way  and  ruin  him.  The  Lord  says,  on  the  other  hand : 
Thou,  Mephistopheles,  must  in  the  end  confess,  ashamed, 
that  “A  good  man,  though  his  strivings  be  ill-guided,  Doth 
still  retain  a consciousness  of  right.”  This  is  the  sub- 
stance  of  the  wager;  and  who  doubts  that  God  will  win? 
— in  spite  of  the  answ-er  of  Mephistopheles,  “Agreed!  But 
soon  ’t  will  be  decided.”  We  do  not  yet  know  how  the 
wager  will  be  won;  but  that  it  must  be  decided  in  favour 
of  the  Lord,  that  Faust  will  be  saved,  is  from  now  on  certain. 
Only  one  thing  Stands  in  the  way  of  this  interpretation,  and 
it  has  been  pointed  out  with  special  acuteness,  with  too 
much,  perhaps,  in  a philosophical  explanation  of  Faust, 
which  goes  deeply  into  the  ideas  underlying  the  drama. 
The  Lord  leaves  Faust  in  the  devil’s  Charge  with  these 
words : “ As  long  as  he  on  earth  shall  live,  So  long  be  ’t  not 
forbidden  thee;  Man  errs  as  long  as  he  doth  strive.  ” If 
such  be  the  case — and  it  js — the  wager  cannot  possibly  be 
decided  in  favour  of  Faust  as  an  individual;  an  immanent 
salvation  is  impossible  here  on  earth,  and  the  only  thing 
left  is  a powerful  deus  ex  machina,  an  arbitrary  admission 
of  Faust  to  the  heaven  beyond.  To  be  sure,  in  that  case 
the  devil  would  have  all  his  trouble  for  naught;  but  we  are 
not  convinced  of  the  rightness  and  justice  of  such  a salvation. 

Faust  is  also  a representative  of  mankind,  which  is  in 
truth  the  object  of  the  contest  between  heaven  and  hell, 
between  good  and  evil;  and  the  admission  into  heaven  is 
only  a mythical,  a poetical  picture,  a visible  symbol  of  the 
conviction  of  the  Optimist  that  a good  man,  though  his 
strivings  be  ill-guided,  doth  still  retain  a consciousness  of 
right:  a picture  of  the  rationalistic  belief  that  humanity 
is  God’s  and  not  the  devil’s:  that  is  to  say,  that  in  spite 
of  all  apparent  triumphs  of  the  evil  the  good  in  the  world 
will  finally  prevail,  because  the  original  source  of  man  is 
good  and  not  evil,  the  daemon  in  his  breast  is  the  daemon 


312 


Zbe  Xife  of  ßoetbe 


of  good  and  not  the  devil.  There  would  then  be  perfect 
harmony  between  the  philosophical  idea  and  the  poetical 
picture,  if  only  those  words  of  the  Lord  did  not  disturb  the 
illusion.  So  long  as  he  lives  on  earth  man  not  only  strives, 
he  also  errs.  This  is  a philosophical  truth,  which  cannot 
be  controverted  by  any  picture  of  any  symbolical  admission 
into  heaven.  The  only  answer  to  it  is  the  philosophical 
conviction  that  in  the  end  the  good  will  ever  triumph  on 
earth.  The  arbitrary  act  of  an  ascension  cannot  decide 
the  matter;  the  only  possible  way  of  deciding  it  would  be 
for  Faust  to  be  led  into  the  very  greatest  temptation  con- 
ceivable  and  to  come  out  of  it  triumphant.  But  even  then 
the  words  of  Mephistopheles  would  still  remain  in  force, 
“Agreed!  But  soon ’t  will  be  decided.  ” There  would  still 
be  left  the  question,  is  there  a virtue  secure  against  every 
defeat  and  every  fall?  To  put  it  differently,  the  Lord 
relies  upon  striving,  the  devil  upon  erring.  We  believe, 
with  the  Lord,  that  in  striving  itself  lies  the  possibility  of 
redemption  for  erring,  sinful  mankind,  because  there  is  a 
growth,  a development,  and  a progress,  in  which  only  the 
reactionary  devil  does  not  believe.  But  we  are  disturbed 
in  this  belief  when  the  Lord  himself  speaks  of  never-ending 
erring  and  leaves  us  to  hope  for  salvation  in  the  next  world, 
when  we  demand  and  expect  it  in  this  world.  This  pro- 
duces  discord  between  the  philosophical  contents  and  the 
poetical  picture.  Most  people  are  conscious  of  it  only 
through  the  feeling  that  the  wager  smacks  somewhat 
of  the  old  logical  devices  of  the  sophists — is  an  insolv- 
able  dilemma.  And  that  is  a pity.  Otherwise  the  whole 
scene  is  so  glorious — the  highly  poetic  pathos  of  the  song 
of  the  archangels,  the  scintillating  conversation  between 
the  Lord  and  the  devil,  the  humorous  biending  of  the  finite 
and  the  infinite,  which  produces  and  harmonises  the  sharpest 
contrasts,  and  finds  characteristic  expression  in  the  closing 
words,  “ ’ T is  very  handsome  in  so  great  a Lord  so  humanly 
to  parley  with  the  devil.  ” 

The  “Prologue”  is  followed  by  the  exposition,  which 
we  already  know — Faust’s  first  monologue,  the  conjuring 


jfaust 


313 


up  of  the  Earth-Spirit,  and  the  conversation  with  the 
famulus  Wagner.  Then  came  a great  gap  in  the  Fragment 
of  1790,  and  even  greater  in  the  Urfaust.  How  did  Me- 
phistopheles come  to  Faust?  This  question  had  to  be 
answered.  The  beginning  of  the  answer  is  a new  monologue 
of  Faust,  which  reaches  its  climax  in  his  determination  to 
commit  suicide.  From  a purely  dramatical  point  of  view 
it  is  proper  to  ask  whether  a second  monologue  was  per- 
missible  so  soon  after  the  first  long  one.  And  yet  this 
question  would  hardly  have  been  raised  if  this  second  mono- 
logue had  not  had  a certain  similarity  in  contents  with  the 
first  one,  and  if  its  style — Goethe’s  change  of  style  had 
meanwhile  taken  place — had  not  turned  out  too  elegant  and 
reposeful,  too  lyrically  tender,  a shade  too  weak,  perhaps, 
for  the  determination  which  it  is  to  motivate.  For  the 
former  we  may  refer  to  the  renewed  complaints  about  the 
household  furnishings  of  his  ancestors;  for  the  latter,  to 
the  closing  lines  of  these  complaints : ‘ 1 The  legacy  thy  f athers 
left,  essay,  By  use,  to  win  and  make  thine  own.  What  we 
do  not  employ  impedes  our  way ; The  moment  can  but  use 
what  it  creates  alone.  ” One  who  can  speak  in  such  general 
and  such  abstract  terms  is  not  ready  for  suicide;  he  is  still 
able  to  fight  the  battle  of  life.  Especially  lyrical  are  the 
words  with  which  Faust  takes  down  the  phial ; young 
Goethe  would  have  spoken  more  realistically,  with  greater 
passion  and  despair.  But  they  are  beautiful  and  afford 
another  pleasing  example  of  form  and  content  blended  into 
a unity. 

What  does  Faust  hope  to  accomplish  by  suicide?  Not 
to  escape  from  life,  like  one  in  despair,  but  to  resort  to  this 
last  bold  mean  and  thus  to  gain  by  one  stroke  what  was 
denied  him  when  he  conjured  up  the  Earth-Spirit,  to  “dare 
to  open  wide  those  portals  past  which  each  mortal  fain 
would  steal.  ” He  desires  everything  or  nothing,  and 
death  will  lead  to  one  or  the  other.  He  is  once  more  the  old 
heaven-storming,  Titanic  Faust;  there  is  here  no  lack  of 
force,  as  he  desires  to  prove  his  manly  dignity  by  this  deed. 

Just  as  he  places  the  cup  to  his  lips  the  sound  of  bells 


3H 


Gbe  %iic  of  6oetbe 


is  heard  and  the  singing  of  a chorus,  proclaiming  the  first 
solemn  hour  of  the  Easter  festival.  Faust  is  saved,  re- 
stored  to  life  and  earth.  A criticism  which  might  be  made 
at  this  point  demands  an  answer.  It  might  be  said  that 
chance  plays  here  the  chief  röle,  and  that  is  undramatical ; 
that  a moment  later  the  poison  would  have  been  drunk, 
in  spite  of  Easter  morning  and  Easter  celebration.  To 
strengthen  this  criticism  one  might  refer  again  to  that 
scene  which  seems  to  clash  with  all  the  others,  “Forest  and 
Cavern,”  where  Mephistopheles  says  to  Faust,  “And  but 
for  me  not  long  ago  thou  hadst  walked  off  this  earthly 
sphere.  ” It  may  be  that  in  1788,  the  time  when  this  scene 
originated,  Goethe  was  thinking  of  an  attempt  on  the  part 
of  Faust  to  commit  suicide,  and  that  it  was  his  intention 
to  have  him  hindered  in  the  act  by  the  intervention  of 
Mephistopheles.  That  would  have  eliminated  the  element 
of  chance  in  the  ringing  of  the  Easter  bells,  but  it  would 
also  have  robbed  the  scene  of  a great  deal  of  its  beauty. 
So  Goethe  preferred  the  element  of  chance,  which,  moreover, 
is  objectionable  in  a drama  only  when  it  takes  the  place 
of  a motive,  not  when  it  serves  to  develop  a motive,  as  here. 
The  important  thing  is  not  the  fact  that  the  Easter  bells 
ring,  but  the  way  in  which  they  affect  Faust  at  the  moment. 
Furthermore  Goethe  has  made  Wagner  announce  this 
“chance”  (“to-morrow  being  Easter  day”)  and  the  way 
has  been  prepared  for  the  dawn  of  the  morning  in  Faust’s 
preceding  monologue.  His  heart  goes  out  with  svmbolic 
longing  toward  the  dawn  of  a new  day,  as  the  real  new  day 
begins  to  break  about  him.  Finally,  one  might  say  that 
it  must  be  the  Easter  season,  must  be  spring,  as  it  is  only 
in  such  a season  that  the  first  monologue  can  be  understood, 
with  its  newly  awakened  love  of  nature  and  its  spring  long- 
ing to  go  out  into  the  broad  country  and  enter  real  life. 
Thus  even  the  chance  occurrence  is  after  all  well  motivated. 

The  other  question  is  more  important:  How  does  this 

chance  occurrence  affect  Faust?  By  what  is  he  held  back 
from  suicide?  Apparently  the  first  answer  to  suggest  itself 
is  that  it  marks  the  beginning  of  a return  to  the  faith  of  his 


Jfauat 


315 


childhood,  that  the  man  who  no  longer  receives  any  support 
from  knowledge  is  for  the  moment  in  the  grasp  of  religion. 
But  Goethe  has  protested  in  a most  unmistakable  fashion 
against  such  an  interpretation,  in  the  passage  in  which  he 
makes  Faust  say: 

•Sic  ÜSotfdjaft  l)ör’  icf)  moljl,  allein  mir  fehlt  ber  ©laube ; 

SBunber  ift  be$  ©lautend  liebfteS  $inb. 

3u  jenen  ©paaren  trag’  idj  nicht  ju  [heben, 

2Bof)cr  bie  bolbe  9iad)rid)t  tönt.* 

So  it  is  not  faith  that  binds  him  fast  to  life,  for  he  lacks 
faith.  It  is  the  sweet,  blissful  remembrances  of  his  youth: 
“And  yet,  with  this  sweet  strain  familiär  as  a boy,  I now 
am  summoned  back  to  life  once  more.  ” “Remembrance 
now,  with  childlike  feeling,  forbiddeth  me  to  take  the  final, 
solemn  step.  ” We  have  been  prepared  for  this  also  by  a 
passage  in  the  preceding  monologue,  where  Faust  was  re- 
minded,  by  the  pictures  on  the  crystal  goblet,  of  many  a 
night  in  his  youth.  True,  Goethe  has  chosen  the  contents 
of  the  Easter  songs  so  that  they  have  some  reference  to 
Faust,  and  has  put  in  them  a deep,  symbolic  meaning,  which 
is  more  readily  comprehended  by  the  reader  than  by  the 
hearer  in  the  theatre.  Faust  himself,  however,  sees  in 
them  nothing  but  the  echoes  of  youthful  remembrances. 
The  power  of  memory  to  make  life  dear,  the  moral  support, 
the  permanent  value,  in  thoughts  of  home  and  childhood, 
we  have  all  feit  and  been  grateful  for,  though  we  may 
meanwhile  have  advanced  far  beyond  everything  recalled, 
even  the  faith  of  our  childhood’s  years. 

Life  has  Faust  again,  and  so  he  goes  out  into  life  as  it 
is  unfolded  on  Easter  day  outside  the  gates  of  the  city. 
Masterful  is  the  way  in  which,  with  but  few  strokes,  this 
world  of  Philistines  and  students,  soldiers  and  journeymen, 
servant  girls  and  citizens’  daughters,  is  pictured  with  such 
vividness  in  their  innocent  or  insidious  pleasures  and  joys, 
and  in  their  little  wiles  and  intrigues : 

* The  message  well  I hear,  but  I in  faith  am  wanting; 

And  miracle  is  faith’s  own  dearest  child. 

I dare  not  soar  to  yonder  heavenly  spheres 
Whence  üoat  these  tidings  of  great  joy. 


316 


Zhe  %\fc  of  ßoetbe 


@ie  feiern  bie  $luferftel)ung  bes  fierrn, 

®enn  fie  finb  fdber  auferftanben, 

2lu3  niebriger  Raufer  bumpfen  ©emäcfyem, 

9lus$  $anbroerf§>  unb  ©eroerbes=95anben, 

QluS  bem  Trudf  non  ©iebcln  unb  §>äcf)ern, 

2hi3  ber  ©tragen  quetfebenber  Ginge, 

5lu3  ber  Äirdjcn  cfjrnnirbiger  91a  d)t 
©inb  fie  alle  an$  ßidjt  gebracht.* 

To  Faust  all  these  things  are  so  stränge;  he  is  so  far 
above  all  their  joys,  and  yet  he  sympathises  with  them  so 
humanly,  so  tolerantly,  and  so  understandingly.  Echoes 
of  the  tender  emotions  of  the  past  night  and  of  the  rieh 
experiences  of  the  morning  are  still  reverberating  in  his 
soul.  And  he  is  further  moved  by  the  crowds  of  people 
gathering  about  him  in  the  village  to  express  their  gratitude 
for  what  he  did  for  them  as  a physician  during  the  dark 
days  of  the  plague.  While  Wagner  thinks  that  his  own 
bosom  would  be  swelled  by  the  “veneration  of  this  crowd,” 
Faust  feels  ashamed  and  humiliated.  During  those  sad 
days  he  had  proved  his  love  by  his  deeds,  and  yet  he  says, 
“We  with  our  infernal  medicines  raged  far  more  fiercely 
than  the  plague.”  “Alas!  the  deeds  we  do,  as  well  as 
sufferings,  impede  the  progress  of  our  lives.”  In  this  mood 
he  gazes  at  the  sinking  sun,  and  in  his  deeply  stirred  heart 
are  awakened  again  all  the  recently  quelled  spirits  of  dis- 
couragement and  dissatisfaction,  of  longing  and  unmeasured 
striving.  “Oh,  that  pinions  lifted  me  from  earth!”  The 
life  to  which  he  has  returned  to-day  is  not  life  to  him.  While 
all  about  him  are  conscious  of  but  one  single  impulse,  there 
dwell  in  his  breast  two  souls,  which  are  at  variance  with 
each  other.  In  this  mood  he  is  seized  anew  with  longing 
for  the  aid  of  spirits,  that  they  might  lead  him  out  of  the 

* The  Lord’s  resurrection  they  celebrate, 

For  they  themselves  again  have  risen 

From  low-crouching  house,  from  ill-smelling  room, 

From  bonds  of  toil,  from  tradesman’s  prison, 

From  o’erhanging  gables’  deep  gloom, 

From  the  streets  oppressively  narrow, 

From  the  churches’  awe-breathing  night 
They  have  all  emerged  to  the  light. 


3fau0t 


317 


narrowness  of  his  knowledge  and  his  whole  existence  into 
a richer  and  gayer  life ; longing  for  a magic  cloak,  which  at 
this  moment  he  would  not  exchange  for  a king’s  mantle. 
The  proper  moment  has  now  arrived  for  hell  to  approach 
him,  to  tempt  him  and  lead  him  astray.  It  has  long  been 
softly  spreading  magic  coils  about  his  feet  to  weave  a future 
snare,  and  now  it  approaches  him.  A poodle  joins  him, 
and  Mephistopheles  crosses  with  Faust  the  threshold  of  his 
study. 

A new  monologue  of  Faust,  the  third  of  the  series,  is 
decidedly  too  much  of  a good  thing,  and  its  climax,  the 
longing  for  “revelation,  the  highest,  most  noble  ever  sent, 
As  found  in  the  New  Testament,”  is  impossible.  How 
Goethe  came  upon  this  idea  is  easy  to  see.  The  effect  of 
the  contrast  between  the  New  Testament  and  the  exorcism 
of  the  devil,  between  heaven  and  hell,  suited  his  purpose 
perfectly.  But  for  Faust  an  attempt  to  translate  the  Bible 
is  impossible,  for  he  lacks  faith.  The  words  are  not  spoken, 
then,  by  Faust,  the  man  of  feeling;  they  are  the  clear  ut- 
terance  of  the  investigator,  the  philosopher,  the  Scholar,  of 
the  preceding  monologues.  It  is  possible  for  him  to  seek  to 
find  out  whether  study  and  knowledge  may  not  be  able  once 
more  to  quiet  his  excited  passion,  his  thirst  for  enjoyment; 
but  it  cannot  be  his  desire  to  return  to  faith  and  revelation. 
True,  one  might  say  that  the  prologue  of  the  Gospel  of 
John,  the  biblical  passage  in  question,  is  itself  knowledge, 
a bit  of  Alexandrian  philosophy  of  religion,  and  not  faith; 
but  that  could  hardly  be  taken  seriously.  Besides,  the 
interpretation  which  Faust  attempts,  the  contrast  between 
word  and  thought,  power  and  act,  is,  in  spite  of  the  reminis- 
cence  of  Fichte,  neither  philosophically  clear  nor  purely 
poetical ; it  is  one  of  those  passages  in  which  the  philosophi- 
cal  and  poetical  elements  cannot  be  blended  into  a perfect 
unity. 

Now  follows  the  exorcism  of  Mephistopheles.  He  ap- 
pears  in  the  form  of  a dog,  but  the  “Key  of  Solomon,”  is 
ineffective  when  applied  to  him.  None  of  the  four  elements 
is  disguised  in  the  beast,  and  so  he  is  not  an  emissary  of  the 


<Xbe  Uife  of  (Boetbe 


318 

Earth-Spirit.  He  is  really  a fugitive  from  hell  and  must 
make  himself  known  to  Faust  as  such,  so  that  Faust  may 
do  what  he  does  with  full  consciousness.  The  second  form 
which  he  assumes  is  that  of  a travelling  scholar.  This  is  in 
harmony  with  that  above-mentioned  plan  of  a great  dis- 
putation  scene,  according  to  which  it  was  doubtless  intended 
that  Mephistopheles  should  approach  Faust,  tempting  him 
and  leading  him  into  indiscreet  utterances.  But  apart  from 
this,  the  devil  comes  to  Professor  Faust  in  a form  fitting 
Faust’s  sphere.  The  third  time  he  appears,  when  he  is 
about  to  take  Faust  out  and  introduce  him  to  a new  life, 
he  comes  dressed  as  a gay  cavalier. 

And  now  Mephistopheles  defines  himself  as  “A  part  o’ 
that  power,  but  little  understood,  Which  e’er  designs  the 
bad,  and  e’er  creates  the  good.”  A part?  He  Stands 
before  us  in  his  entirety,  and  as  a whole.  By  this  tum 
Goethe  achieves  at  once  a realistic  contrast  to  the  un- 
measured,  hyperidealistic  striving  of  Faust  toward  the  All 
and  the  Whole.  How  cleverly  the  ambiguous  “creates  the 
good”  is  put!  The  devil  himself  thinks  of  the  denial  and 
annihilation  of  everything  that  exists,  which  as  such  deserves 
to  go  to  ruin  and  thus  receive  its  due  punishment;  while 
we  think  of  that  stimulating,  influencing,  positively  Creative 
side  of  evil,  of  wdiich  the  Lord  spoke  in  the  “Prologue.” 
Thus  the  devil  teils  everything,  and  yet  not  everything; 
he  says  neither  too  much  nor  too  little.  He  will  assert 
himself  still  further  and  will  explain  himself  more  clearly. 
Faust  is  to  become  acquainted  with  entirely  different  phases 
of  his  nature:  “We’ll  talk  about  it  more  anon.” 

Why  does  Mephistopheles  not  enter  into  a compact 
with  Faust  immediately?  Why  does  he  go  away,  when 
Faust  desires  to  hold  him  back?  As  though  a man  like 
Faust  were  to  be  won  without  further  ceremony,  and  as 
though  the  devil  did  not  have  to  bring  many  arts  into  play 
to  catch  him!  This  retarding  and  delaying  of  the  action 
is  philosophically  fully  justified.  Hell  first  lures  a man  on 
and  stimulates  his  desires  before  it  leads  him  astray  and 
causes  him  to  fall,  and  it  gains  more  by  refusing  requests 


jfaust 


319 


than  by  granting  them  at  once.  The  drama  also  gains 
by  the  delay.  What  a fine  stroke  that  Mephistopheles  is 
unable  to  escape  from  the  room  because  of  the  “druid’s 
foot”  on  the  threshold ! It  teaches  Faust  that  even  hell  has 
its  laws  and  that  a compact  may  be  entered  into  with  its 
representatives.  The  devil  himself  may  be  caught  and 
hence  the  venture  may  be  made.  A dangerous  step,  to  be 
sure,  but  why  not  risk  it?  If  he  gets  into  the  trap  once, 
why  not  a second  time?  Finally  this  feature  furnishes  the 
occasion  for  that  dream  vision,  which  conjures  up  before 
Faust  a picture  of  a glorious  region  in  which  a godlike  race 
leads  a blissful  life.  These  fields  of  the  blest  and  the  de- 
lights  there  enjoyed  are  painted  as  by  the  brush  of  a Böcklin. 
The  song  of  the  spirits  has  both  an  exciting  and  a lulling 
effect,  like  certain  parts  of  Wagner’s  operas;  it  captivates 
all  the  senses  by  its  sweet  charm,  and  causes  Faust  to  sink 
into  a sea  of  illusions.  Sensuous  desire  is  aroused  and  un- 
chained  within  him,  and  when  he  awakes  with  thirst-parched 
lips  Mephistopheles  has  vanished.  Is  that  not  a truly 
Satanic  idea,  carried  out  in  a truly  poetic  way? 

Of  course  the  devil  returns  to  close  the  compact  desired 
by  Faust.  It  was  no  easy  task  for  Goethe  so  to  shape  the 
scene  that  the  end  of  it,  which  had  already  been  published 
in  the  Fragment  of  1790,  could  be  joined  to  the  newly  com- 
posed  beginning  without  leaving  the  joint  exposed.  For 
this  reason  it  was  one  of  the  last  portions  of  the  First  Part 
to  be  written.  How  is  the  task  performed  ? So  far  as  tone, 
harmony,  and  style  are  concerned,  it  is  unquestionably  one 
of  the  most  powerful  and  most  magnificent  scenes  of  the 
whole  drama.  All  the  registers  of  pathos  and  passion, 
thought  and  wit,  irony  and  acumen,  are  drawn,  and  in  style 
it  reaches  the  very  acme  of  dramatic  power  and  passion. 
In  short  it  is  a masterpiece  in  every  respect. 

There  is  but  one  thing  in  it  that  can  be  criticised  un- 
favourably,  the  chorus  of  invisible  spirits  after  Faust  has 
pronounced  his  curse.  Nobody  will  question  its  beauty, 
nor  the  propriety  of  ha  ein  g Faust’s  passionate  outburst 
followed  by  such  a musical  intermezzo,  which  in  its  quieting, 


320 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


soothmg  effect  is  almost  like  a Greek  chorus.  But  it  is 
with  these  choruses  as  with  the  three  monologues — they 
are  too  numerous.  There  are  the  chorus  of  the  archangels 
in  the  “Prologue,”  the  Easter  chorus,  the  chorus  of  the 
spirits  at  the  exorcism,  then  another  that  lulls  Faust  to 
sleep,  and  now  this  new  chorus  of  spirits.  Critics  have 
spoken,  and  not  unjustly,  of  the  operatic  elements  of  these 
portions  of  the  drama.  To  be  sure,  there  is  singing  also  in 
the  Ur jaust  and  the  Fragment , but  there  it  belongs  to  the 
realistic,  populär  tone  of  Faust,  and  is  in  no  way  different 
from  the  singing  in  real  life.  Here,  however,  songs  take 
the  place  of  dialogue,  and  thus,  as  in  the  opera,  music  takes 
the  place  of  poetry.  In  any  case  this  operatic  element  was 
not  found  in  the  original  style  of  Faust.  It  is  a clear  sign 
of  Goethe’s  change  of  style,  of  which  we  have  already  spoken. 
If  it  were  to  go  on  increasing  here,  as  will  really  be  the  case 
in  the  Second  Part,  the  tendency  would  be  very  hazardous. 

What  shall  we  say  of  the  contents  of  the  scene?  Here 
at  least  there  is  nothing  to  find  fault  with,  is  there?  The 
old  and  the  new  are  joined  together  without  discord  or  clash? 
This  has  been  questioned,  and  one  critic  has  even  ventured 
the  daring  assertion  that  here  “ almost  every  word  is  a 
contradiction.”  47  So  it  is  incumbent  upon  us  to  examine 
the  scene  narrowly. 

Mephistopheles  finds  Faust  completely  discouraged. 
He  has  experienced  nothing  but  disappointments,  has  failed 
in  everything,  has  not  even  been  able  to  hold  fast  the  devil. 
Now  the  devil  is  standing  before  him  again  and  desires  to 
take  him  out  into  life,  “in  Order  that,  untrammelled,  free, 
Life  be  at  last  revealed  to  thee.”  That,  of  course,  would  be 
the  fulfilment  of  Faust’s  desire.  He  has  wished  to  fly,  he 
has  longed  for  a magic  cloak,  and  now  he  is  to  have  it. 
But  he  cannot  rejoice;  it  is  even  beyond  the  power  of  his 
fancy  to  conceive  how  such  a thing  could  be  possible  as 
that  his  wishes  should  be  granted  and  he  should  ever  be 
satisfied.  He  is  so  sober  and  disenchanted  that  he  sees 
through  all  illusions  and  declares  life  to  be  absolutelv  worth- 
less  because  it  is  full  of  illusions.  But  does  Faust  know  life? 


The  Goethe  Monument  at  Rome 

Designed  by  Gustav  Eberlein 

( Reproduced  by  permission  of  the  Sculptor,  and  of  D.  Anderson , Photographer) 


fauöt 


321 


No,  he  knows  only  one  part  of  it,  let  us  say  a third,  know- 
ledge  and  understanding.  What  he  has  experienced  on  this 
side  of  life — “ But  I am  bereft  of  all  joy  on  earth” — he  now 
ignorantly  applies  to  life  as  a whole,  and  speaks  of  it  like 
a pessimist.  Yet  he  knows  life  neither  on  the  side  of  en- 
joyment  (the  second  third)  nor  on  that  of  action  and  in- 
fluence  (the  third  third  ) , for  which  reason  these  sides  remain 
at  the  periphery  of  his  field  of  observation.  He  approaches 
life  as  a man  of  leaming  and  believes  he  comprehends  and 
knows  it  through  and  through,  and  he  discovers  everywhere 
deception,  illusion,  disappointment.  Hence  there  is  no 
joy  in  knowledge,  because  we  can  know  nothing.  From 
this  he  concludes  that  there  is  no  joy  in  life  either,  because 
every  anticipated  pleasure  is  diminished  by  peevish  cavilling, 
and  even  the  creations  of  his  ever-active  breast  are  hindered 
by  the  thousand  goblins  of  life,  and  because  he  everywhere 
meets  with  disillusionments  and  limitations,  hindrances 
and  imperfections.  Knowledge  has  not  satisfied  him, 
therefore  enjoyment  will  not  satisfy  him  either.  Death  in 
the  midst  of  enjoyment  is  the  only  thing  worth  while,  because 
life  proves  only  that  every  new  enjoyment  but  leads  to  a 
new  dissatisf action.  Then  comes  the  devil’s  thrust,  “And 
yet  one  certain  night  some  one  refrained  from  quaffing  off  a 
brownish  potion.”  Faust  still  has  some  illusions  and  these 
illusions  have  held  him  fast  in  life ; but  now  he  breaks  away 
from  them : 

Sßcnn  au$  bem  fd)rcdlid)en  ©ett)iif)Ie 
©in  t'iifs  befannter  ®on  mid)  509, 

®en  9teft  öon  finblid)em  ©efitfjle 
Mit  Anhang  froher  Seit  betrog, 

@0  find)’  id)  allem,  roa§  bie  ©eele 
Mit  Socb  ttnb  ©aufetoerf  umfpannt 
Unb  fie  in  biefe  ®rauerf)öt)le 
Mit  Sölcnb-  nnb  ©cfimcicbelfräftcn  bannt.* 

* E’en  though  sweet  memories,  o’er  me  stealing, 

Once  saved  me  from  that  maddening  maze, 

Charmed  what  was  left  of  childlike  feeling 
With  echoes  soft  of  happy  days, 

I now  curse  all  that  e’er  entices 


VOL.  III. — 21. 


322 


Gbe  Xtfe  of  ßoetbe 


Iie  curses,  one  after  another,  everything  that  is  ordinarily 
considered  a source  of  joy  and  pleasure,  everything  that 
appears  valuable  as  happiness  or  a blessing  of  life,  and  finally 
ends  with  the  terrible  words : 

glucf)  fei  ber  Hoffnung!  glud)  betn  ©lauben, 

llnb  glucf)  öor  allem  ber  ©ebulb  !  *  * 

Accurst  be  hope!  which  lures  us  on  with  its  illusions  from 
one  Station  of  life  to  another ; and  curst  be  f aith ! which  gives 
us  courage  and  strength  to  take  up  the  battle  of  life  and 
live;  and  most  of  all  be  patience  curst!  Faust  has  no 
patience  in  the  world  of  knowledge,  for  he  would  like  to 
know  everything  immediately  and  penetrate  with  one  effort 
the  innermost  secrets  of  nature ; nor  has  he  in  life  the  patience 
to  thrust  aside  the  goblins  of  life,  with  their  hindrances,  and 
strive  after  one  thing  and  then  another.  In  a word,  he  has 
not  the  patience  to  be  a realist. 

It  is  everything  or  nothing  again,  and  since  he  cannot 
have  everything,  and  all  at  once,  he  will  have  nothing  at 
all.  Such  is  not  the  thought  and  feeling  of  a pessimist,  but 
of  an  idealist  who  knows  no  metes  and  bounds.  We  recog- 
nise  this  idealist  in  the  elemental  violence  of  his  curses, 
and  in  his  attempt  to  tear  down  the  prison  bars  of  real  life, 
by  which  he  is  fretted  and  chafed,  and  the  metes  and  bounds 
of  which  he  considers  an  attentat  upon  his  ideal  striving. 
He  is  not  yet  able  to  forgo  his  desires,  and  he  is  still  unwilling 
to  resign  himself.  Hence  “the  small  dependents,  my  at- 
tendants,”  as  Mephistopheles  calls  the  intervening  spirits, 
direct  their  song  not  to  the  pessimist,  but  to  the  idealist. 
They  have  rightly  recognised  his  want  of  moderation  and 
his  restlessness,  have  clearly  feit  his  Titanesque,  heaven- 
storming  nature,  and  so  seek  to  Iure  him  to  begin  a new 


And  cheats  the  soul  with  fancies  vain, 
All  honeyed  wiles,  all  sly  devices, 

That  bind  it  to  this  world  of  pain. 

* Accurst  be  hope!  and  curst  be  faith! 
And  most  of  all  be  patience  curst! 


tfaust 


323 


course  of  life.  Through  their  words,  which  are  nothing  but 
Faust’s  inner  voice  objectified,  there  runs  for  this  very  reason 
an  ideal  strain,  and  also  the  Suggestion  that  it  may  not  be 
so  easy  for  Mephistopheles  to  master  this  mighty  son  of 
earth. 

As  though  nothing  had  happened,  as  though  Faust  had 
not  just  cursed  all  illusion,  Mephistopheles  now  comes  for- 
ward  with  the  proposal  that  they  enter  into  a compact,  and 
Faust  expresses  his  willingness  to  do  so.  How  is  this 
possible,  especially  at  the  present  moment?  “ Accurst  be 
faith!”  is  one  thing.  The  beyond  can  cause  him  little 
worry;  he  does  not  care  to  hear  anything  further  about 
whether  or  not  there  is  such  a thing  as  an  above  and  a below 
in  those  spheres.  He  has  no  illusions  on  this  subject,  and 
hence  he  may  make  the  venture.  To  be  sure,  we  ourselves 
are  confronted  by  the  impending  danger  of  being  torn  out 
of  our  illusion.  If  there  is  no  beyond,  then  Faust  may  well 
make  the  venture,  for  Mephistopheles  will  be  deceived  in 
any  event.  In  any  event?  Must  hell  be  in  the  beyond?  Is 
there  not  a hell  here  on  earth,  and  will  Faust  not  experience 
it  in  his  own  life,  for  example,  in  the  prison  with  Gretchen, 
where  all  the  woe  of  mankind  will  overwhelm  him?  Yes,  but 
is  that  what  Goethe  means?  Perhaps  not.  But  who  has 
time  to  think  about  it  at  such  a moment,  when  the  action 
is  advancing  so  breathlessly,  and  we,  in  our  eagerness  to 
hear  the  compact,  are  for  the  present  happily  carried  beyond 
the  possibility  of  losing  the  illusion  ? 

If  Faust  no  longer  has  any  illusions,  he  has  none  con- 
cerning  the  devil’s  offer,  and  hence  he  asks:  “What  wilt 
thou,  sorry  devil,  give?”  Still  he  enters  into  the  compact. 
What  does  he  expect  to  gain  by  his  league  with  Mephisto- 
pheles ? In  reality  nothing,  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  he 
feels  at  liberty  to  enter  into  it.  “ Was  human  soul,  in  its 
exalted  striving,  by  thee  and  thine  e’er  understood?” 
Mephistopheles  will  never  gain  the  mastery  over  him,  for, 
like  the  Lord,  in  the  “Prologue,”  Faust  relies  on  his  striving, 
and  his  striving  is  so  exalted  that  the  sorry  devil  will  never 
be  able  to  satisfy  it.  He  can  close  the  contract  with  proud 


32  4 


Gbe  Xlfe  of  0oetbe 


defiance,  because  he  is  certain  of  the  endlessness  of  his 
strength  and  the  duration  of  his  striving.  But  if  the  latter 
is  endless  it  can  never  be  satisfied.  Wherefore  then  the 
compact  ? Must  he  not  now  consider  it  worthless  and 
superfluous,  and  decline  to  become  a party  to  it?  He 
desires  to  dull  his  senses;  he  longs  for  intoxication,  that  he 
may  forget  himself  and  his  pain,  may  forget  his  heart’s  dis- 
satisfaction,  by  silencing  it  in  a wild  chase  after  enjoyment. 
He  needs  this  wild  chase.  It  is  his  nature  to  strive,  and 
striving  means  employment  of  one’s  powers  in  action.  So 
he  needs  something  to  occupy  him,  needs  this  restlessness ; 
therefore  “ Into  the  tumult  of  time  let  us  hence,  And  stem 
the  rolling  tide  of  events!  Restless  striving  is  man’s  true 
sphere.”  In  this  restless  striving  Mephistopheles  is  to  be 
Faust’s  servant,  and  Faust  thinks  that  he  will  fall  the  place 
satisfactorily.  And  what  is  to  be  the  object  of  the  striving? 
Pleasure?  Yes;  but  also  its  opposite,  pain.  “But  list ! no 
word  of  joy  hath  crossed  my  lips.  I fain  would  drunken 
reel  with  pleasure’s  maddest  pain.”  Here  again  it  is  every- 
thing  or  nothing.  “And  all  the  weal  and  woe  on  man 
bestowed  I ’ll  gladly  in  my  inmost  soul  enjoy.”  We  have 
made  the  transition  from  the  newer  portion  of  the  scene 
to  the  older,  naturally  and  imperceptibly,  and  the  keenest 
eye  cannot  discern  any  joint  or  gap. 

However,  we  have  not  reached  the  end  of  the  scene. 
We  now  pass  from  Faust  to  Mephistopheles.  Even  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  world  and  the  activities  of  life  Faust  de- 
mands  the  acme,  the  whole;  his  desires  embrace  everything, 
even  the  infinite.  Hence  even  here  he  must  remain  unsatis- 
fied.  Since  this  does  not  fit  into  Mephistopheles’s  plan, 
he  must  nowr  exert  a sobering,  moderating,  subduing  in- 
fluence,  whereas  in  the  beginning  his  influence  had  to  be 
stimulating  and  luring.  This  involves  no  contradiction. 
Faust’s  pessimism  was  from  the  beginning  idealism,  which 
accounts  for  the  boundless  passion  of  the  curses  he  pro- 
nounced.  Then  it  was  Mephistopheles’s  task  to  counteract 
his  inordinate  lack  of  illusions,  by  presenting  the  attractive 
side  of  life  and  luring  him  out  into  this  life.  Now  this  im- 


325 


faust 

moderateness  reveals  itself  in  its  true  light,  as  immoderate- 
ness  of  striving  and  willing;  and  Mephistopheles  must  seek 
to  subdue  it,  must  pour  out  upon  the  idealist  vials  of  vitriolic 
mockery  and  cold,  realistic  reason,  and  recommend  to  him 
self-limitation.  To  the  devil  self-limitation  means  the  for- 
going  of  everything  high  and  ideal,  means  limitation  to  the 
sphere  of  the  low  and  common.  What  is  the  devil’s  aim? 
To  draw  this  lofty  Spirit  away  from  his  original  source,  to 
make  him  eat  dust,  and  with  pleasure;  in  a word,  to  stifle 
the  idealism  in  him.  Mephistopheles  teils  us  himself  what 
he  considers  the  best  means  to  this  end : 

®en  fdflepp’  idj  burdf  baS  roilbe  Geben, 

®urcf)  flatfje  UnbebeutcnE)eit, 

(Er  foU  mir  päppeln,  ftarren,  heben, 

Unb  feiner  Unerfättltdjfeit 

©oH  ©peif  nnb  £ranf  Dor  giet’gen  Sippen  fcfyroeben; 

(Er  roirb  (Erquicfung  fid)  umfonfterfIeE)n.* 

Mephistopheles  is  wise  enough  to  know  that  such  a spirit 
is  not  easily  ruined,  that  its  mainspring  is  not  to  be  weakened 
all  at  once.  So  he  must  first  seek  to  overcome  Faust’ s 
restless  striving.  The  feasts  which  he  sets  before  him  must 
be  prepared  with  this  in  view;  they  must  be  wild,  insipid, 
insignificant,  common.  He  hopes  in  this  way  to  wean 
Faust  from  his  accustomed  fare,  to  degrade  him  and  ruin 
him  spiritually,  so  that  in  the  end,  languid,  weak,  and  blase, 
he  will  really  find  pleasure  in  eating  dust.  So  it  is  not  a 
question  of  how  long  Faust  tarries  here  or  there  in  his  pursuit 
of  happiness,  but  whether  he  will  ever  become  weary  of  this 
pursuit,  this  restless  activity  of  spirit,  and  whether  he  will 
ever  come  to  a halt,  surfeited  and  exhausted,  and  cease 
entirely  to  strive  forward.  For  being  blase  is  a mortal  sin 
against  the  holy  ghost  of  life  and  striving. 

* Him  will  I drag  through  revels  gay, 

His  lust  with  vapid  trifles  feed, 

Till  he  shall  struggle,  stiften,  stay; 

And  to  excite  his  boundless  greed 
Viands  shall  near  his  lips  and  float  away. 

In  vain  shall  he  refreshment  then  implore. 


326  Gbe  Xife  o t (Boetbe 

So  they  close  the  wager,  the  compact,  each  interpreting 
it  in  his  own  mind  in  his  own  way,  Faust,  “in  a sudden 
flight  of  impassioned  oratory,”  clothing  the  terms  in  these 
words : 

SBBerb’  id)  beruhigt  je  mid)  auf  ein  gaulbett  legen, 

©o  fei  e$  gleich  um  mid)  getan! 

Äannft  btt  mid)  fd)tneid)dnb  je  belügen, 

Safj  icf)  mir  felbft  gefallen  mag, 

Sannft  btt  mid)  mit  ©emifj  betrügen, 

Sa$  fei  für  mich  ber  lcf)te  Sag! 

Sie  SBette  biet’  id)!  . . . 

Uttb  ©d)lag  auf  ©d)lag! 

SSerb’  icf)  gttm  Slugenblicfe  fagen: 

Skrtneile  boc^  ! bu  bift  fo  fdjön! 

Sann  magft  bu  mid)  in  geffeln  fd)lagen, 

Sann  tnill  icf)  gern  31t  ©runbe  gef)n ! 

Sann  mag  bie  Sotenglocfe  fcfyaUen, 

Sann  bift  bu  beitteä  Sienfteb  frei, 

Sie  Ufjr  mag  ftcbn,  ber  Seiger  faßen, 

©e>  fei  bie  Seit  für  micf)  üorbei!  * 

Let  us  now  ask  ourselves  the  question,  Has  Mephis- 
topheles won  this  wager  at  any  moment  of  the  Gretchen 
tragedy,  not  to  speak  of  the  vapid  revelries  in  Auerbach’s 
Cellar,  during  which  Faust  could  not  possibly  have  viewed 
himself  complacently  ? Through  sensuous  lovethe  devil  hoped 

* When  calmed  I Stretch  myself  upon  a bed  of  ease, 

That  moment  be  the  victory  thine! 

Canst  thou  me  Iure  with  flattery’s  wile 
To  view  myself  complacently, 

Canst  thou  with  pleasure  me  beguile, 

Let  that  day  be  the  last  f or  me ! 

Be  this  our  wager!  . . . 

Then  we  agree! 

When  to  the  moment  I shall  say: 

“Oh,  prithee,  stay!  Thou  art  so  fair!” 

Then  mayst  thou  fetters  on  me  lay, 

The  ruin  of  my  soul  declare! 

Then  let  the  death  bell  sound  its  call, 

Then  from  thy  Service  thou  ait  free, 

The  clock  may  stop,  the  index  fall. 

And  time  no  more  exist  for  me ! 


Jfaust 


32  7 

to  drag  Faust  down  into  the  mire  of  guilt.  Instead  there 
awakens  in  Faust  that  eternal  love  which  will  not  permit  the 
soul  to  remain  in  sin  and  perish  in  guilt.  He  is  filled  with  the 
idealism  of  love.  There  is  awakened  in  him  also  the  con- 
sciousness  of  metes  and  bounds,  and  of  the  necessity  of 
moderation  and  self-limitation.  He  once  desired  to  be 
able  to  fly,  to  be  free  and  untrammelled,  untrammelled  im- 
plying  freedom  from  all  restraints  of  morality.  He  is  soon 
to  leam  by  bitter  experience  whither  such  unrestrained 
freedom  leads,  and  also  to  experience  the  full  significance  of 
his  desire  to  heap  the  woes  of  all  mankind  upon  his  own 
bosom.  He  has  really  feit  the  weight  of  all  the  misery  of 
mankind,  but  at  what  a price!  In  the  Gretchen  tragedy  he 
has  again  become  conscious  of  the  two  souls  within  his 
breast,  the  inward  discord  between  the  vulgär  realism  of 
sensuousness  and  the  ideal  height  of  an  endless  love.  In 
view  of  this  discord  can  it  be  possible  that  Mephistopheles 
has  won  the  wager,  the  condition  of  which  Faust  formulated 
in  these  words,  “ Canst  thou  me  Iure  with  flattery’s  wile  to 
view  myself  complacently  ” ? Was  Faust  satisfied  with 
himself  there  in  the  prison?  If,  instead  of  clinging  to  a 
pedantic  and  purely  superficial  interpretation  of  the  words, 
“ When  to  the  moment  I shall  say : ‘ Oh,  prithee,  stay ! Thou 
art  so  fair!”’  one  takes  into  consideration  the  spirit  and 
significance  of  the  whole  passage,  there  is  no  trace  here  of 
a contradiction  such  as  has  been  confidently  pointed  out. 
So  correctly  is  the  wager  formulated  that  we  are  forced  to 
admit  that  in  it  Faust’s  nature  is  for  the  first  time  fully 
unfolded,  without  any  incoherencies  or  evidences  of  patch- 
work,  and  without  any  other  contradiction  than  that  which 
lies  in  the  nature  of  Faust,  and  of  mankind  in  general. 

And  another  thing  has  hereby  been  made  clear  within 
the  tragedy  itself,  as  it  was  outside  of  it,  in  the  “ Prologue 
in  Heaven,”  namely,  that  the  devil’s  words,  “ Hither  to 
me!”  at  the  close  of  the  First  Part,  cannot  be  the  end.  The 
First  Part  leads  us  to  expect  a sequel,  such  as  really  lies 
before  us  in  the  Second  Part. 

Mephistopheles  had  taken  Faust  to  Auerbach’ s Cellar, 


328 


£be  %lfe  of  (Boetbe 


to  Gretchen’s  chamber,  and  to  the  witches’  conclave  on  the 
Brocken.  It  was  insipid  enough  at  the  latter  place,  but 
for  that  very  reason  Faust  could  not  be  satisfied  with  him- 
self  there.  He  learned  there  whither  being  “ untrammelled, 
free”  leads  when  it  means  freedom  from  the  moral  law, 
when  man  casts  off  the  restraints  of  duty  and  morality. 
Though  he  falls  a victim  to  sensuousness,  he  finds  in  his 
love  for  Gretchen  something  eise  that  is  higher  and  purer 
and  corresponds  entirely  to  his  idealistic  original  source. 
Thus  he  begins  inwardly  to  free  himself  from  the  base  com- 
panion,  with  whose  society  he  has  hitherto  been  pleased. 
Through  the  fate  of  Gretchen  he  learns  that  unlimited, 
unrestrained  willing  and  striving  lead  man  to  the  abyss. 
He  has  learned  to  know  mankind’s  highest  pleasure  and 
deepest  pain,  but  has  at  the  same  time  experienced  the 
truthfulness  of  the  words,  which  he  himself  later  utters, 
“ Passive  enjoyment  makes  one  common.” 

Much  as  he  has  learned,  his  education  is  not  yet  finished. 
He  has  completed  another  third  of  the  course,  but  the  last 
third  is  still  before  him.  Since  he  desires  the  whole,  he 
“considers  the  possession  of  the  highest  knowledge,  the 
enjoyment  of  the  fairest  blessings  insufficient,”  so  long  as 
he  has  not  yet  completed  this  last  third.  He  believes  in 
the  motto,  “Restless  striving  is  man’s  true  sphere,”  so  he 
says : “ Into  the  tumult  of  time  let  us  hence,  And  stem  the 
rolling  tide  of  events!”  After  knowledge  and  enjoyment 
must  come  action  and  deeds;  after  the  little  world,  the  great 
world.  Or,  as  Goethe  himself  says,  the  hero  must  now  be 
led  out  of  his  present  “sorrowful  sphere  through  worthier 
relations  in  higher  regions.”  The  poet  also  puts  it  in  this 
way : ‘ ‘ The  treatment  must  now  pass  more  from  the  specific 
to  the  generic.”*  Schiller  makes  the  very  positive  Sugges- 
tion, “ It  would  be  eminently  proper,  in  my  judgment,  for 
Faust  to  be  led  into  active  life.”  What  success  will  Faust 
have  in  the  great  world,  and  how  will  it  go  with  him  there? 
And,  above  all,  what  success  wäll  Goethe  have,  and  how 
will  it  go  with  the  material  which  swells  to  such  propor- 
* Cf.  Riemer,  Mitteilungen  über  Goethe , ii. , 569. — C. 


Jfaußt  329 

tions?  Will  he  find  the  “poetical  hoop”  that  can  hold  it 
together  ? 

Goethe  was  Faust,  Faust  was  Goethe;  and  even  though, 
as  we  have  seen,  each  had  outgrown  the  other,  at  bottom 
their  natures  always  remained  the  same.  For  the  continua- 
tion  of  the  work  this  fact  was  both  favourable  and  unfavour- 
able.  Favourable,  in  that  Goethe,  having  attained  to  a high 
Position  among  men,  was  able  to  labour  in  the  great  world 
and  exert  an  influence  upon  it,  at  the  side  of  a prince,  as 
statesman  and  minister,  as  theatre  director  and  whatever 
other  function  it  feil  to  his  lot  to  perform.  Unfavourable,  in 
so  far  as  his  whole  nature,  which  inclined  more  and  more, 
as  time  went  on,  to  calm,  contemplative,  exclusive  activity 
and  to  work  with  himself  and  on  his  own  harmonious  de- 
velopment, made  him  desire  to  hold  himself  aloof  from 
the  excitement  and  unrest  of  political  life,  and  from 
mingling  with  the  great  mass.  Besides,  he  took  little 
interest  in  the  storms  and  passions,  to  some  extent 
even  in  the  most  important  phenomena  and  questions,  of 
politics. 

At  the  time  of  Götz  and  Egmont  he  to  whom  nothing 
human  was  stränge  did  not  know  this  lack.  Tf  he  had 
finished  Faust  then  it  would  probably  have  been  easier  for 
him  to  guide  his  hero  through  even  this  sphere  of  life. 
Hence  it  has  been  thought  that  Faust  might  have  been 
made  to  take  part  in  the  Peasants’  War  of  the  sixteenth 
Century,  and  to-day  one  might  be  specially  tempted  to 
represent  him  as  a Champion  of  such  social  aims  and  strug- 
gles.  For  the  Goethe  of  later  years  it  was  above  all  this 
very  “difficulty  of  the  political  task”  that  made  him  hesi- 
tate  and  postpone  the  work  time  after  time.  He  had 
gotten  out  of  sympathy  with  things  political,  especially  since 
the  French  revolution,  and  this  side  of  life  was  for  him  almost 
a closed  book,  when  he  took  up  the  task  of  completing  the 
Second  Part  of  the  drama.  On  the  other  hand,  the  thing 
that  interested  him  during  the  first  years  of  the  new  Century, 
when  he  went  to  work  under  Schiller’s  stimulating  influence, 
was  the  working  out  of  the  idea  of  pure  man,  the  realisation 


33° 


ftbe  %\fc  of  (Soetbe 


of  a definite  educational  ideal,  which  we  characterise  only 
approximately  with  the  nowadays  so  threadbare  word  hu- 
manity,  and  much  too  one-sidedly  as  neo-humanism.  With 
the  progress  of  years  surrounding  conditions  also  contri- 
buted  their  share  toward  turning  his  filterest  away.  The 
War  of  Liberation  failed  to  bring  the  Germans  unity  of 
spirit  and  redemption  from  the  division  of  the  fatherland 
into  petty  States.  The  reaction  soon  made  its  laming  in- 
fluence  feit  everywhere.  Goethe  had  already  assumed  a 
cool,  antagonistic  attitude  toward  the  youthful  attempts 
at  Opposition  on  the  part  of  the  Burschenschaft  and  South 
German  liberalism.  The  esthetic-literary  war,  on  the  con- 
trary,  between  classicism  and  romanticism,  between  the 
antique  and  the  mediaeval,  was  not  yet  fought  out,  and, 
strongly  as  Goethe  was  attached  to  the  classical,  he  sought 
to  form  out  of  the  two  opposing  aims  a third  aim,  higher 
than  either  of  them,  the  modern  educational  ideal,  and  to 
realise  this  ideal  in  his  own  person.  He  also  took  a most 
lively  interest  in  natural  Science,  which  was  coming  more 
and  more  to  the  front.  Even  social  developments,  par- 
ticularly  the  building  up  of  the  civilisation  of  the  new  era 
on  the  foundation  of  machinery  and  technical  skill,  on 
canals  and  ocean  commerce,  did  not  escape  his  far-seeing 
eye.  How  deeply  he  was  interested  in  these  matters 
we  know  from  Wilhelm  Meister. 

Faust  had  outgrown  Goethe  also  by  virtue  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  become  a “generic”  character,  a representative 
type  of  striving,  struggling  humanity.  This  humanity  was 
not  different  from  that  of  Goethe’s  own  time,  except  that 
he  saw  more  distinctly  than  others  what  was  lying  in  the 
seed  and  was  yet  gradually  to  grow  beyond  that  period. 
Hence  he  feit  it  his  duty  to  embody  in  Faust,  as  a repre- 
sentative type,  the  interests  of  the  day,  as  they  came  to  his 
attention  and  affected  him.  But  even  the  most  universal 
spirit  can  take  but  one  step  and  reach  but  one  span  beyond 
the  limitations  of  his  age.  So  the  Faust  of  the  second  decade 
of  the  nineteenth  Century  will  hardly  be  able  to  advance 
to  political  activitv,  because  there  was  no  political  activity 


faust  331 

at  that  time.  Herein  lies  the  temporary  limitation  of  the 
Second  Part. 

What  we  have  just  said  reveals  still  another  danger. 
To  the  symbolic,  “generic”  significance  of  Faust  Goethe 
sacrificed  the  necessity  of  limiting  him  to  a definite  time, 
say,  the  sixteenth  Century.  He  makes  him  come  into  touch 
with  the  past  and  the  future,  with  the  Middle  Ages  and  the 
nineteenth  Century;  in  a certain  sense  he  makes  him  inde- 
pendent of  time,  through  which  process  the  personal  and 
dramatic  elements  lose  what  is  gained  by  the  universal 
human  and  symbolic. 

Now  let  us  pass  to  the  contents  of  this  Second  Part.  It 
falls  into  two  cliief  divisions,  the  union  of  Faust  with  Helena 
and  the  end  of  Faust,  after  he  has  become  the  prince  of  the 
Strand.  The  former  of  these  divisions  embraces  the  first 
three  acts ; the  latter,  the  fourth  and  fifth  acts. 

After  Faust’ s soul  has  passed  through  the  hellish  tor- 
ments  of  guilt  and  remorse,  in  the  “Prison”  scene,  we  see 
him  at  the  beginning  of  the  Second  Part  seeking  and  finding 
sleep  under  the  influence  of  the  songs  of  Ariel  and  his  chorus 
of  elves,  for  “ be  he  holy,  be  he  evil,  they  th’  unhappy 
creature  pity.  ” That  is  to  say,  the  homeless  outcast,  the 
monster  without  aim  and  rest,  finds  again  in  the  solitude, 
on  the  bosom  of  nature,  his  lost  repose,  finds  new  life  and 
new  power  “to  strive  henceforth  tow’rd  being’s  sovereign 
height.  ” In  the  beautiful  monologue  at  the  sight  of  the 
rising  sun  we  see  him  more  mature  and,  above  all,  limiting 
himself,  forgoing  the  whole.  The  way  is  paved  for  a resig- 
nation  of  exaggerated  idealism.  He  cannot  bear  the  full 
light  of  the  sun,  he  must  be  satisfied  with  its  picture  in  the 
rainbow  of  a waterfall.  “ In  these  refracted  colours  we 
have  life.” 

The  purpose  of  the  scene  is  obvious.  But  one  will  have 
to  ask  one’s  seif  whether  it  is  enough  to  represent  in  this 
short  scene  and  in  such  an  operatic  way  Faust’s  liberation 
from  remorse  and  a guilty  conscience  and  his  resolution  to 
begin  a new  life  on  the  basis  of  a past  bitter  experience, 
and  whether  it  is  enough  to  let  him  recover  so  simply  in 


332 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


communion  with  nature  that,  bathed  in  the  dew  of  Lethe’s 
flood,  he  hardly  thinks  of  Gretchen  any  more.  The  ethical 
element  is  wanting,  and  yet  the  effect  of  the  Gretchen 
tragedy  on  Faust  ought  to  be  ethical.  In  the  third  third  of 
Faust’s  ränge  of  experience,  in  active  life,  it  would  seem  ab- 
solutely  essential  that  the  ethical  relations  be  not  wanting. 

No  motive  at  all  is  assigned  for  Faust’s  determination 
to  go  to  the  Emperor’s  Court,  where  we  find  him  with 
Mephistopheles  in  the  second  scene.  Here  three  things 
happen.  I Mephistopheles,  who  introduces  himself  as  a 
court  fool,  opens  the  prospect  of  untold  treasures  for  the 
Emperor,  who  is  financially  ruined  and  whose  whole  empire 
is  on  the  point  of  dissolution,  but  who,  undisturbed  by 
these  things,  cares  for  nothing  save  to  amuse  himself.  The 
promise  is  redeemed  by  the  manufacture  of  paper  money, 
which,  it  is  true,  is  soon  discovered  to  be  the  devil’s  money, 
and  brings  no  blessing  to  its  possessors.  2.  The  second  is  the 
masquerade,  which  Faust  seems  to  direct  from  the  back- 
ground,  like  Goethe,  who  had  arranged  many  such  festivities 
at  the  Court  of  Weimar,  especially  during  the  first  years 
of  his  residence  there.  It  is  full  of  allusions  and  allegories, 
which  are  not  to  be  understood  without  a commentary, 
but  it  is  constructed  with  much  artistic  beauty  and  the- 
atrical  observation,  just  such  a court  festival  as  Goethe’s 
fancy  doubtless  dreamed  might  some  day  be  realised. 
There  is  also  a connection  with  the  action  of  the  first  part 
of  the  scene.jJ  The  third  event  of  the  scene  is  the  conjuring 
up  of  Helena. 

Goethe’s  sources  for  the  paper-money  scene  were  doubt- 
less John  Law’s  schemes  and  the  assignat  swindle  in  France. 
But  what  is  the  purpose  of  the  scene  in  the  drama  ? To 
give  Faust  an  occasion  to  become  an  active  factor  in  po- 
litical  life,  at  a time  when  the  state  is  in  distress.  But  does 
Faust  really  do  anything?  Mephistopheles  invents  the 
plan  and  executes  it;  Faust  is  his  passive  assistant  and  at 
most  adds  a few  pathetic  words,  which  show  that  not  even 
he  sees  through  the  swindle.  There  is  another  thing  in 
the  scene  that  gives  it  interest  beyond  that  due  to  its  po- 


Ifaust 


333 


sition  in  Faust.  It  is  a picture  of  the  time  of  the  transition 
from  the  Middle  Ages  to  modern  times,  perhaps  not  without 
a slight  polemical  thrust  at  the  romantic  glorification  of 
the  period  and  the  romantic  manipulation  of  historical  facts 
to  make  them  seem  to  support  the  theory  that  throne  and 
altar  belong  together.  The  luxurious  festivals  of  the  Court 
are  a striking  contrast  to  the  distress  of  the  country.  The 
spirit  of  the  government  is  feudal,  mediasval,  unenlightened, 
and  reactionary,  as  is  shown  by  the  drastic  expressions  of 
the  Chancellor: 

Statur  unb  ©eift — fo  fpridjtman  nid)t  31t  Cffriften. 

3)e$f)alb  Derbrennt  man  5ltljeiften, 

SSB  eil  folrfje  Sieben  Ejöcfjft  gefciljrlid)  finb. 

Statur  ift  ©i'tnbe,  ©eift  ift  Teufel, 

©ie  Ijegen  3tt)ifct)en  fid)  ben  3toeifeI, 

3f)r  mifigeftaltet  3tuitterfinb. 

Unä  nicfjt  fo ! — Äaiferö  alten  Sanben 
©inb  groei  ©efdjledjter  neu  entftanben, 

©ie  ftitijen  roi'irbig  feinen  £l)ron: 

T>ie  ^eiligen  finb  e§  unb  bie  Stifter; 

©ic  fteljen  jebcm  Ungemitter 

Unb  nehmen  tird)’  unb  ©taat  311m  fiol)n.* 

As  opposed  to  him,  Faust  and  Mephistopheles  repre- 
sent  the  modern  spirit.  Wherever  Mephistopheles  discovers 
that  anything  is  old  and  corrupt  his  immediate  influence 
leads  to  further  dissolution  and  destruction,  as,  for  ex- 
ample,  in  the  masquerade,  where  the  gold  works  ruin  and 
adventurers  and  swindlers  gain  the  upper  hand.  Hence 

* To  words  like  “nature,”  “mind,”  no  Christian  lists. 

The  ground  for  burning  atheists 

Is  that  such  words  bring  souls  in  jeopardy. 

Nature  is  sin,  and  mind  is  devil; 

They  doubt  beget,  in  shameless  revel, 

A monstrous,  mongrel  progeny. 

Not  so  with  us!  The  empire  old 
Brought  forth  two  races,  new  and  bold, 

To-day  the  throne’s  most  worthy  stay, 

The  knights  and  clergy,  who  together 
The  emperor  help  each  storm  to  weather, 

And  take  both  church  and  state  for  pay. 


334 


£be  üüfe  of  (Boetbe 


progress  is  not  so  quickly  made  after  all.  The  ground  must 
first  be  prepared;  the  spirits  must  first  be  formed,  men 
must  first  be  educated,  and  that  esthetically.  Schiller 
also  thought  that  education  for  the  true  state  should  be 
esthetic.  Therefore  the  time,  and  Faust,  who  represents 
the  time,  must  pass  through  this  course  of  training.  The 
road  of  progress  from  the  Middle  Ages  to  modern  times 
passes  through  humanism  and  the  Renaissance,  that  is, 
through  the  return  to  life  of  classical  antiquity  and  its 
beauty.  Helena  must  be  conjured  up. 

It  is  here  a question  chiefly  of  the  amusement  of  the 
Emperor;  the  beautiful  is  to  entertain  him.  This  is  the 
first  form  in  which  it  manifests  itself  at  the  masquerade, 
and  it  is  for  this  purpose  only  that  Helena  and  Paris  are 
to  be  produced.  But  it  is  not  easy  to  conjure  up  Helena. 
Mephistopheles  cannot  do  it;  the  Spirit  of  annihilation 
is  not  a Spirit  of  reanimation,  and,  besides,  the  northern 
devil  is  the  principle  of  ugliness,  to  whom  the  figures  of 
antiquity,  “an  obnoxious  folk, ” afford  no  attraction.  So 
Faust  must  this  time  take  a hand  himself.  Mephistopheles 
can  only  show  him  the  way  and  give  him  the  kev.  He 
himself  must  go  down  to  the  “ Mothers.  ” 

®te  9J?ütter!  9J?ütter!  — ’§  hingt  fo  nnmberlid)!  * 

Here  we  have  really  one  of  the  mysteries  of  the  Second 
Part.  Who  are  these  Mothers?  The  conception  is  to  be 
traced  back  to  a passage  in  Plutarch.48  Plutarch  was  a 
Platonist,  and  the  realm  of  the  Mothers  is  essentially  the 
realm  of  the  ideas  of  Plato,  or,  as  Schiller  has  called  it, 
the  realm  of  forms,  the  realm  of  shades.  These  ideas  are  the 
eternal,  original  forms  of  all  things,  or,  as  was  later  held, 
the  original  forms  of  all  individual  things.  Though  these 
individual  things  may  have  disappeared  from  our  world, 
their  ideal,  original  forms  still  endure.  Over  this  realm  of 
forms  stand  guard  certain  divinities,  who  give  them 
motherly  protection.  These  divinities  are,  then,  so  to 
*The  Mothers!  Mothers! — it  sounds  so  curious! 


tfauet 


335 


speak,  the  womb  from  which  issue  all  individual  things, 
and  theirs  is  the  function  of  mediating  the  process  of  life, 
and,  naturally,  also  that  of  reanimation,  whether  things 
are  called  to  the  light  naturally  in  the  fair  course  of  life,  or 
miraculously  by  the  magician’s  power.  So  Faust  must  go 
to  the  Mothers  if  he  desires,  as  a magician,  to  bring  Helena 
to  the  light ; for  her  original  form  is  in  their  keeping.  It 
must  be  admitted  that  this  is  all  far-fetched  and  artificial ; 
and  it  is  not  very  clear  what  the  journey  to  the  Mothers, 
into  those  “solitudes,  ” into  the  eternal,  empty  distance 
of  void,  signifies  to  Faust,  or  whether  his  hope  to  find  the 
all  in  this  nothing  is  realised  in  Helena. 

At  any  rate  Faust  brings  up  with  him  the  embodiment 
of  classical  beauty,  Helena,  in  her  original  form,  most  beauti- 
ful  and  perfect,  and  produces  her  before  the  Court.  While 
the  Court,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  the  ideal,  indulges 
in  insipid  witticisms  and  scandalous  gossip,  Faust’s  soul 
is  deeply  moved  by  the  sight  of  this  beauty,  which  was 
conjured  up  primarily  only  for  the  sake  of  amusement. 
She  it  is  to.  whom  he  will  henceforth  devote  the  employment 
of  his  every  power,  the  whole  of  his  passion,  inclination, 
love,  adoration,  frenzy.  So  here  in  the  presence  of  beauty 
he  is  still  the  same  old  immoderate,  unrestrained  idealist, 
with  his  all  or  nothing.  He  seeks  to  hold  Helena  fast, 
but  the  spirit-like  being  dissolves  in  vapour  as  he  is  about 
to  seize  her.  It  is  with  her  as  with  the  Earth-Spirit,  and 
here  again  Faust  sinks  in  a swoon.  He  has  shown  that  he 
is  still  the  same  Faust  in  that  he  has  not  the  patience  to 
await  the  results  of  slow  work;  he  must  take  beauty  by 
storm,  and  that  immediately.  But  beauty  and  the  classical 
ideal  cannot  be  gained  in  that  way.  It  is  necessary  to 
travel  by  a longer  way  in  order  to  arrive  at  the  goal.  To 
show  this  is  the  purpose  of  the  second  act. 

Of  all  the  five  acts  this  is  the  strängest,  with  Homun- 
culus  and  the  Classical  Walpurgis  Night.  Mephistopheles 
has  taken  swooning  Faust  back  to  his  old  quarters,  the 
realm  of  knowledge,  or,  let  us  say,  the  realm  of  learning, 
since  Wagner  now  dwells  there  as  a shining  light  of  Science. 


336 


Gbe  %if e of  (Boetbe 


This  man  of  learning  is  just  now  at  work  on  a stupendous 
project,  the  original  conception  of  which  goes  back  to  the 
Renaissance,  to  Paracelsus.  It  is  bis  desire  to  produce  an 
artificial  man  in  a retort,  and  the  moment  that  Mephisto- 
pheles enters  his  laboratory,  and,  as  it  seems,  by  his  Inter- 
vention hastens  the  Chemical  process,  the  great  work  is 
consummated,  the  Chemical  manikin  is  finished,  a little 
spirit  man  without  flesh  and  blood,  almost  without  a body, 
who,  as  a product  of  learning,  is  spiritual  through  and 
through,  is  clever,  intelligent,  and  even  leamed  from  the 
beginning,  and,  as  a representative  of  the  learning  of  the 
Renaissance,  shows  from  the  outset  a “tendency  toward 
the  beautiful  and  toward  serviceable  action.  ” As  a poly- 
histor  he  knows  of  course  about  Greece  and  is  quite  at  home 
there.  Hence  he  is  able  to  interpret  Faust’s  classical  dreams, 
which  have  to  do  with  Leda  and  the  swan,  that  is,  with  the 
procreation  of  Helena,  and  can  show  him  the  way  to  Greece 
and  serve  as  his  guide  there.  He  is  the  right  man  for  Faust 
at  the  present  moment.  From  his  hand,  “ the  hand  of 
truth,  ” will  Faust  receive  the  veil  of  poetry  and  beauty. 

Such  approximately  must  be  the  conception  which  we 
form  of  the  nature  and  purpose  of  Homunculus,  and  the 
whole  conception  would  have  been  quite  clever  if  it  had 
not  had  a tinge  of  the  comical.  It  is  not  Faust  who  makes 
him,  but  Wagner.  The  idea  that  this  famulus-nature,  this 
learned  impotence,  should  make  a human  being  without 
procreation,  provokes  a smile,  whether  we  will  or  no;  it 
necessarily  makes  the  creature  ridiculous.  Matters  are 
made  worse,  rather  than  improved,  when  we  hear  that  the 
conception  was  suggested  to  Goethe  by  the  assertion  of  a 
Schellingian  natural  philosopher,  who  happened  also  to 
be  called  Wagner,  that  chemistry  would  certainly  yet 
succeed  in  creating  men  by  means  of  crystallisation.49 

Ordinarily  there  is  but  a short  Step  from  the  sublime  to 
the  ridiculous;  here  we  are  to  realise  the  shortness  of  the 
distance  in  the  opposite  direction.  Homunculus  f ulfils  his 
task  and  leads  Faust  to  the  classic  land  of  beauty,  just 
as  philological  learning  has  in  reality  led  the  peoples  of 


ffauet 


337 


Western  Europe,  the  men  of  modern  times,  to  the  classical 
ideal.  But  he  himself  meets  with  his  end  there,  and  this 
end  is  tragically  beautiful.  He  is  dashed  to  pieces  on  the 
shell  chariot  of  Galatea,  the  goddess  of  beauty,  presumably 
because  he  is  now  no  longer  necessary,  just  as  the  leaming 
of  humanism  seems  necessary  only  until  the  beauty  of 
humane  and  humanised  mankind  shall  be  realised.  In 
certain  particulars  the  fate  and  end  of  this  stränge  little 
dwarf  are  not  clear,  and  it  is  easy  to  understand  how  others 
should  have  hit  upon  other  interpretations,  as,  for  example, 
to  mention  but  one,  which  is  wholly  impossible,  the  Inter- 
pretation of  Homunculus  as  the  embodiment  of  life  energy 
and  a heroic  longing  for  formation.50  We  have  already 
spoken  of  the  Cleverness  of  the  idea,  that  the  way  to  beauty 
passes  through  learning,  the  ridiculous  aspects  of  which 
one  must  in  the  end  accept  as  unavoidable;  but  such  ob- 
scurities  as  those  just  referred  to,  and  the  law  that  what  has 
once  been  made  ridiculous  can  never  again  produce  a sublime 
and  tragical  effect,  detract  materially  from  this  Cleverness. 

The  most  objective  figure  of  the  whole  scene  is  the  Stu- 
dent of  the  First  Part,  who  has  meanwhile  advanced  to  the 
bachelor’s  degree.  Though  even  he  is  made  to  utter  all 
sorts  of  insinuations,  for  example,  against  the  Burschen- 
schafters and  their  bearing,  wTith  which  Goethe  had  little 
sympathy,  but,  above  all,  against  Fichte  and  his  subjective 
idealism.  In  his  youthful  sauciness  and  impertinence  this 
young  man  is  most  charmingly  characterised.  The  one 
humour-saturated  sentence  of  Mephistopheles,  “ Perhaps 
thou  knowest  not,  my  friend,  how  rüde  thou  art,”  richly 
compensates  for  a great  deal  of  tiresome  allegory. 

Homunculus  and  Mephistopheles  take  Faust,  who  is  still 
lying  unconscious,  to  Greece  for  the  Classical  Walpurgis 
Night  on  the  Held  of  Pharsalus.  It  is  the  anniversary  of 
the  battle  in  which  the  freedom  of  the  antique  world  came 
to  an  end  and  the  victory  was  won  by  that  empire  which 
was  destined  finally  to  carry  classical  antiquity  over  into 
the  new  Christian  world.  Therefore  the  Classical  Walpurgis 
Night  is  republican,  as  its  counter part  in  the  north  was 

VOL.  III. 2 2 


33§ 


Zhc  Xif e of  (Soetbe 


monarchic.  Furthermore  the  ghostly  life  and  actions  on 
this  very  ground  and  in  this  very  night  are  excellently 
motivated.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  seems  to  us  a ques- 
tionable  undertaking,  which  savours  strongly  of  learned- 
ness,  to  attempt  to  represent  in  the  sequence  of  the  figures 
introduced  something  like  the  historical  development  of 
the  grotesque  civilisations,  brought  from  Egypt  and  the 
Orient  into  the  free  Hellenic  beauty  of  classical  civili- 
sation,  which  is  revealed  upon  and  about  the  shell 
chariot  of  Galatea.  The  most  questionable  feature  about 
it  is  the  fact  that  Goethe  introduced  in  satirical  form 
certain  scientific  disputes  which  happened  to  interest  him, 
such  as  the  mythological  controversy  concerning  the  Cabiri, 
provoked  by  Schelling,  but,  above  all,  the  scientific  war 
between  the  Vulcanist  and  the  Neptunist  factions  in  geology, 
which  he  finally  brought  to  a close  in  favour  of  the  Nep- 
tunist standpoint,  after  subjecting  the  Vulcanists  to  a 
volley  of  derision.  What  has  this  to  do  wdth  Faust  ? Apart 
from  this  we  lose  sight  of  him  altogether  too  much. 
Mephistopheles  goes  in  quest  of  the  ugly  and  the  lustful; 
Homunculus  seeks  corporeality,  which  he  either  finds  or 
loses,  we  do  not  know  for  certain  which,  but  probably  the 
latter,  when  he  bursts  his  glass  on  the  shell  chariot  of 
Galatea. 

Faust  has  but  one  thought,  one  aim.  In  the  throng 
of  antique  forms  and  ghosts  he  seeks  Helena,  but  cannot 
find  her.  Chiron,  who,  as  an  educator,  1ms  put  heroes  on 
the  right  path,  and  has  carried  Helena  herseif  on  his  back, 
takes  him  to  Manto,  his  dearest  friend  among  the  sibylline 
guild.  As  she  loves  “him  who  desires  the  impossible,” 
she  leads  Faust  down  to  Proserpine,  as  she  had  once  “ smug- 
gled  Orpheus  in,”  in  Order  that  he  may  bring  up  Helena — 
this  time  from  the  lower  world . But  here  the  thing  of 
chief  importance  is  wanting.  Goethe  intended  to  develop 
a scene  at  the  court  of  Proserpine.  He  had  in  mind  es- 
pecially  a grand  rhetorical  appeal  by  Manto,  or  by  Faust 
himself,  by  which  Proserpine  should  be  moved  to  let  Helena 
go  back  up  to  life.  “ What  an  oration  it  must  be,  ” he  said 


Jfauöt 


339 


to  Eckermann,  “when  even  Proserpine  is  moved  by  it  to 
tears!”  Unfortunately  this  scene  was  left  unwritten.  The 
assertion  that  everything  presupposed  by  the  return  to  life 
is  given,  and  hence  the  occurrence  itself  may,  without  loss 
to  the  play,  remain  behind  the  scene  and  be  supplied  raen- 
tally,  as  a logical  certainty,  by  those  who  have  witnessed 
what  has  preceded,  is  not  a satisfactory  excuse.  As  is 
proved  by  a sketch  of  the  year  1826,  it  was  Goethe’s  original 
intention  to  write  out  the  scene.  As  he  did  not  do  it,  this 
portion  of  the  Second  Part  turned  out  truly  “ too  laconical.  ” 
There  is  here  a very  perceptible  gap.  At  the  opening  of 
the  third  act  Helena  Stands  suddenly  before  the  surprised 
spectator,  who  as  yet  has  had  nothing  to  prepare  him  for 
her  appearance. 

^ Helena,  this  “ Classico-Romantic  Phantasmagoria,  ” was 
first  thought  of  as  an  interlude,  but  now  “the  piece”  forms 
the  important  third  act,  the  “ culmination  and  axis”  of  the 
Second  Part.  So  far  as  form  is  concerned,  it  is  a Greek 
tragedy  in  the  luxurious  garb  of  the  antique  trimeter,  with 
a chorus  of  Trojan  maidens,  a leader  of  the  chorus,  and 
choral  song.  But  is  the  substance  also  Greek?  Let  us  see. 

Helena  and  her  attendants  are  on  Spartan  soil.  Having 
just  returned  from  Troy,  she  is  waiting  before  her  palace  for 
Menelaus,  who  has  sent  her  ahead  of  the  army.  Mephis- 
topheles appears  as  the  Stewardess  of  the  royal  castle, 
in  the  form  of  a Phorcyd,  the  ugliest  figure  of  classical 
mythology,  which  he  borrowed  during  the  Walpurgis  Night. 
By  means  of  a warning  that  Menelaus  has  chosen  her  for 
a sacrificial  victim,  as  a punishment  for  her  infidelity,  he 
terrifies  the  princess  and  drives  her  into  the  arms  of  Faust, 
who  has  settled  in  the  northern  part  of  Sparta,  as  the  leader 
of  Germanic  hordes.  Faust  receives  the  fugitives  in  his 
castle  and  protects  them  against  an  attack  of  Menelaus. 
As  a reward  for  the  rescue  he  wins  the  love  of  Helena  and 
enjoys  with  her  in  Arcadia  the  highest  bliss  of  love.  From 
their  union,  soon  after  it  is  formed,  there  springs  a son, 
Euphorion,  -who,  soon  after  his  birth,  grows  up  and  talks, 
sings  and  jumps.  But  as  he  kno-ws  no  danger,  no  limita- 


340 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


tions,  no  moderation,  he  falls  down  all  too  soon,  a second 
Icarus,  from  the  quickly  scaled  rocky  height,  and  from  the 
depths  below  we  hear  a voice:  “ Leave  me  in  the  realm  of 
shades,  mother,  not  all  alone!”  The  son  draws  the  mother 
after  him.  With  the  words,  “ Proserpine,  receive  the  boy 
and  me,”  she  embraces  Faust,  “her  corporeal  part  disap- 
pears,  her  garment  and  veil  remain  in  his  arms.  ” The 
garment  bears  Faust  “swiftly  through  the  ether  above  every- 
thing  common,”  he  floats  away  on  a bank  of  clouds.  The 
attendants,  the  maidens  of  the  chorus,  with  their  genuine 
antique  enjoyment  of  life  and  nature,  prefer,  instead  of 
following  the  queen  back  to  Hades,  to  return  to  ever-living 
nature  and  transform  themselves  into  dryads,  echo-nymphs, 
brook-nymphs,  and  spirits  of  the  vine.  Thus  ends  the 
phantasmagoria.  What  does  it  signify? 

First  let  us  ask:  What  is  Helena?  A living  creature,  a 
human  being  with  flesh  and  blood,  or  a shade,  a spirit,  a 
phantasm  ? Does  she  experience  everything  awake  and 
with  consciousness,  or  as  in  a dream?  Perhaps  neither, 
perhaps  both.  She  says  herseif:  “ I to  myself  become  an 
eidolon,  ” and  “which  I am  I do  not  know.  ” Faust,  the 
Faust  of  the  sixteenth  Century,  is  a man  of  the  Middle  Ages 
— the  settlement  of  knights  in  Greece  occurred,  as  is  well 
known,  in  the  year  1204 — and  at  the  same  time  an  entirely 
modern  man.  Thus  three  ages  are  intermingled.  But 
the  question  of  chief  interest  is,  how  does  he  come  to  be  with 
the  Spartan  queen  ? Is  it  a spectral  apparition ; is  it  reality? 
We  do  not  know.  All  that  is  clear  is  that  their  union  signi- 
fies  the  union  of  classical  and  mediaeval  poetry.  Faust 
teaches  the  Greek  queen  the  Germanic  rhyme  form,  and 
teaches  her  the  principle  that  in  poetry  only  what  comes 
from  the  heart  can  affect  the  heart.  He  himself  receives 
from  her  as  his  permanent  possession  her  garment  and  veil, 
the  clothing  of  beauty,  which  bears  him  through  the  ether 
above  everything  common.  From  their  union  springs 
Euphorion,  the  representative  of  modern  poetry,  in  whom 
the  principle  above  referred  to  is  verified,  to  which  even 
the  Phorcyd  Mephistopheles  ascribes: 


tfaust 


341 


®ettn  e§  muji  non  |>ergen  geijen, 

52a6  ouf  bergen  rotrfen  foÜ.* 

It  is  the  superiority  of  modern  art,  in  its  inwardness  of 
feeüng,  even  over  antique  art,  of  which  it  borrows  but  the 
forms : 

ßaf?  ber  ©ottne  ©lang  berfdjtoinben, 

SGScnn  eS  in  ber  ©edc  tagt, 

3Bir  im  eignen  bergen  finben, 

SßaS  bie  gange  SSelt  nerfagt.f 

Is  Euphorion  really  the  representative  of  modern  poetry? 
Is  not  Goethe  himself  that?  We  have  already  heard  that 
Euphorion  is  Lord  Byron,  who,  furthermore,  is  supposed  to 
be  portrayed  in  the  Boy  Charioteer  of  the  first  aet.  Goethe 
said  of  him : “ For  a representative  of  the  most  recent  poetical 
age  I could  use  nobody  but  him,  who,  without  question,  is 
to  be  considered  the  greatest  talent  of  the  Century.  And 
then  Byron  is  not  classical,  and  he  is  not  romantic;  he  is 
like  the  present  dav  itself.  Such  a one  I had  to  have.”  So 
we  shall  have  to  be  satisfied  with  this  and  make  the  best 
of  it.  While  Euphorion  (Byron),  the  half-visionary,  Stands 
upon  his  eminence  and  watches  the  battle  of  the  Greeks 
against  the  Turks,  even  hears  the  thunder  of  cannon  during 
a sea  battle,  and  as  a Philhellene  strives  to  help  the  New 
Hellenes,  he  forms  a new  connecting  link  between  the 
antique  and  the  modern  world . 

Thus  Faust  really  spans  the  three  thousand  years  from 
the  capture  of  Troy  to  the  fall  of  Missolonghi.  But  it  is  a 
composite  picture  showing  a great  confusion  of  qualities: 
poetry  and  objectivity,  with  symbolism  and  allegory;  per- 
sonality  and  individuality,  with  universal  humanity;  unhis- 
torical  and  marvellous  incidents,  with  history  of  the  world 

* From  the  heart  must  needs  arise 
What  aspires  the  heart  to  reach. 
t Let  the  sun  forsake  the  sky, 

If  the  soul  is  bright  with  morn; 

What  the  whole  world  doth  deny 
Is  within  our  bosoms  born. 


342 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


on  the  one  hand  and  history  of  philosophy  on  the  other; 
time  and  space,  versification  and  style,  poetry  and  truth,  all 
in  gay  confusion,  really  forming  a daring  phantasmagoria. 
If  it  had  remained,  as  was  originally  planned,  a mere  inter- 
lude,  like  “ Oberon’s  and  Titania’s  Golden  Wedding,”  say, 
in  the  first  “ Walpurgis  Night,”  one  might  well  have  endured 
the  marvellous  element.  But  it  was  finally  made  an  in- 
tegrant part  of  the  drama,  toward  which  the  whole  Second 
Part  points  and  in  which  it  culminates,  and  so  we  are  forced 
to  ask  what  significance  and  what  value  it  has  for  Faust. 

How  his  marriage  with  the  Greek  heroine  is  to  affect 
him  is  clear.  The  Eternal-Womanly  draws  him  upward, 
antique  beauty  liberates  him  more  and  more  from  the  me- 
diseval  ugliness  of  the  spectral  form  of  the  Phorcyd  Mephis- 
topheles, ideal  beauty  frees  him  from  sensuousness.  Thus 
he  is  to  emerge  from  this  union  exalted,  purified,  liberated, 
and,  finally,  by  the  death  of  immoderate,  unrestrained  Eu- 
phorion,  he  is  to  have  his  attention  directed  to  moderation 
and  self-restraint,  as  they  are  embodied  in  most  beautiful 
harmony  in  Hellenism.  Hence  he  calls  out  to  his  un- 
tamed  boy:  “Gently!  son,  gently!  Curb  thine  over-im- 
portunate,  passionate  strivings!”  In  a word,  he  is  to 
acquire  moral  culture  through  the  medium  of  esthetic  edu- 
cation,  and  to  be  led  through  esthetic  harmony  to  moral  self- 
restraint.  But  is  this  in  any  way  revealed  in  the  drama? 
What  does  Faust  do?  He  saves  Helena.  In  that  Con- 
nection we  read: 

ÜJhir  ber  Derbtettf  btc  ©unft  ber  grauen, 

®cr  fräftigft  fte  gu  fctiii^cn  rceifs.* 

It  that  necessary?  Is  not  the  news  of  Menelaus’s 
approach  pure  deception?  Even  if  it  be  not,  he  leaves  the 
battle  to  the  leaders  of  his  troops,  after  they  have  received 
his  Orders;  he  himself  takes  no  part  in  it.  The  only  thing 
to  his  credit  is  the  procreation  of  Euphorion,  but  even  that 

* No  man  deserveth  woman’s  grace, 

Unless  with  mighty  arm  he  shield  her. 


ffaust  343 

is  symbolic-allegorical ; it  has  at  best  esthetic,  but  no  moral, 
significance.  The  love-dallying  in  its  antique  naivete — 

9lid)t  öcrfngt  firf)  bic  SÜcajeftcit 
§cimlid)cr  gfrcuben 
$or  bcn  Singen  bes  QMfeS 
Übermütige^  Offenbarfein* — 

is  rather  morally  offensive  to  us.  Or  is  the  effect  of  this 
harmonising  edu  cation  perhaps  revealed  as  an  after-effect  ? 
A single  utterance  of  Mephistopheles  points  that  way : 

Wan  merft’S,  bit  fommft  non  Heroinen. t 

That  is  all  and  it  is  decidedly  too  little.  Hence  the  Helena 
tragedy  does  not  produce  the  effect  that  it  should,  especiallv 
the  effect  that  it  ought  to  produce  on  Faust  within  the 
drama.  And  this  dramatic  deficiency  is  not  compensated 
for  by  the  wealth  of  beauty  and  splendour  which  the  act 
unquestionably  contains. 

We  are  approaching  the  end.  The  fourth  act  brings 
Faust  back  to  the  Emperor’s  Court.  But  first  comes  a 
prelude,  which  finally  contains  a reference  to  the  events  of 
the  First  Part.  Faust,  alone  in  lonelv  nature,  in  the  high 
mountains,  is  reminded  by  the  vanishing  cloud-garments  of 
Helena,  which  have  borne  him  hither,  of  “ youth’s  first,  now 
long-withholden,  highest  good,”  by  which  Gretchen  is 
doubtless  meant.  We  are  threatened  with  a conversation 
between  Faust  and  Mephistopheles  about  Vulcanism,  but  it 
is  warded  off  just  in  the  nick  of  time  by  an  off  er  of  the  devil 
which  reminds  us  of  the  temptation  of  Jesus.  We  are  even 
referred  expressly  to  the  fourth  chapter  of  Matthew.  Meph- 
istopheles öfters  Faust  for  his  enjoyment  one  of  the  lands 
over  which  he  has  been  flying.  But  Faust,  who  feels  within 
himself  the  “power  for  bold  industry,”  declares  that  “the 

* Majesty  doth  not  hesitate 
Raptures  most  secret 
To  the  eyes  of  the  crowd 
Boldly,  shamelessly,  thus  to  reveal, 
fl  see,  thou  com’st  from  heroines. 


344 


Gbe  %ife  of  Goetbe 


act  is  everything,  fame  nothing.”  He  desires  nothing  that 
is  already  finished,  but  prefers  something  that  he  has  worked 
and  struggled  for  himself.  He  will  gain  from  the  sea  a 
Stretch  of  land  along  the  shore,  will  subject  the  aimless  ele- 
ments  to  his  power,  will  broaden  the  room  for  the  work 
of  human  civilisation.  Thinking  of  this  work,  which  lures 
him,  he  utters,  in  the  proud  consciousness  of  a ruler,  the 
proud  motto,  “Passive  enjoyment  makes  man  common!” 
We  have  finally  reached  the  last  third  of  the  Second  Part. 
After  knowledge  and  enjoyment  we  have  come  to  activity. 

There  is  still  another  motive  behind  Faust’s  determina- 
tion.  He  desires  to  create  a country  and  a people  for  him- 
self,  because  the  political  world,  as  it  exists,  the  States  as 
they  are,  deserve  to  go  to  ruin.  This  is  shown  by  conditions 
in  the  Emperor’s  realm,  which  has  fallen  into  a state  of 
anarchy.  Goethe  had  in  mind  the  conditions  in  the  old 
German  Empire,  but  also  in  France  at  the  time  of  Louis  XV., 
and  at  the  beginning  of  the  revolution.  The  description  is 
therefore  a composite  picture  of  the  times,  made  up  of  freelv 
chosen  details.  Against  the  Emperor,  who  has  derived  no 
benefit  from  the  devil’s  money,  a rival  Emperor  has  risen, 
so  that  he  finds  it  difhcult  to  defend  his  throne.  This  is  a 
welcome  opportunity  for  Faust  to  win  the  desired  Stretch  of 
land  along  the  shore  as  a feud,  in  reward  for  assistance  given. 
It  is  for  this  reason  and  no  other  that  he  interferes,  or 
rather,  Mephistopheles  interferes  in  his  stead;  for  the  latter 
again  does  everything.  Faust  definitely  declines  to  “ be  the 
commander  of  an  undertaking  of  which  he  understands 
nothing.”  And  yet  a while  ago  he  was  a knight  and  through 
his  leaders  gained  the  victory  over  Menelaus,  who,  to  be 
sure,  may  not  have  been  real.  With  the  help  of  the  three 
“allegorical  scoundrels,”  Bully,  Havequick,  and  Holdfast, 
and,  when  they  prove  insufficient,  with  the  aid  of  an  optical 
illusion  of  fountains  and  flooded  rivers  and  brooks,  Faust 
again  helps  the  Emperor  out  of  a dilemma,  for  which  he 
receives  little  thanks,  however,  as  the  Church  condemns  the 
devil’s  magic  and,  as  with  the  jewel  casket  for  Gretchen, 
shows  that  it  and  it  alone  can  digest  unrighteous  goods. 


345 


jfaust 

Faust  receives  the  desired  strand,  nevertheless.  Unfortu- 
nately  the  scene  of  the  enfeoffment,  which  Goethe  had 
originally  planned  and  partly  written,  was  finally  left  out. 
It  would  have  proved  a much  more  essential  part  of  the 
scene  than  the  appointment  of  five  electoral  princes,  after 
the  model  of  the  Golden  Bull  of  Charles  IV. 

In  the  fifth  act  we  see  Faust  as  a prince  of  the  strand 
and  ruler  of  the  land  won  from  the  sea,  a great  merchant, 
and  a daring  engineer.  The  first  part  of  the  act  is  full  of 
very  modern  atmosphere.  What  Faust  does  here  is  good, 
what  he  has  accomplished  is  great.  This  work,  which 
Stands  as  the  victory  crowning  his  struggle  with  the  ele- 
ments,  is  an  Illustration  of  the  words  of  Sophocles,  “There 
is  much  that  is  mighty,  but  nothing  is  mightier  than  man.” 
The  fact  that  magic  and  human  sacrifices  were  required  to 
carry  it  out,  as  Baucis  teils  us,  shows  that  as  human  ac- 
complishments  even  these  deeds  and  works  are  imperfect, 
that  the  mark  of  the  evil  one  is  branded  upon  them.  To 
view  the  matter  in  a broader  light,  we  may  say  that  the 
victories  of  civilisation  are  not  won  without  violence,  destruc- 
tion,  and  guilt;  their  way  passes  ruthlessly  over  the  happi- 
ness  of  men.  Piracy  marks  the  trail  of  the  expanding 
power,  and  the  territory  on  which  Stands  the  little  hut  of 
Philemon  and  Baucis  in  the  midst  of  Faust’s  possessions, 
thus  hindering  his  rounding  out  of  his  property  to  include 
the  whole  area,  and  limiting  his  power,  is  finally  annexed 
to  his  territory,  not  in  a kindly  way,  as  he  desires,  but  by 
means  of  fire  and  murder.  For  the  piracy  Faust  has  only  a 
serious  countenance  and  a gloomy  look — “ He  makes  a face 
that  shows  disgust.”  Upon  the  crime  against  the  innocent 
old  couple  he  pronounces  his  curse — “This  thoughtless, 
savage  blow  I curse!”  But  it  is  too  late.  By  his  impa- 
tience  he  has  provoked  the  deed  of  violence.  That  it  was 
more  violent  and  more  cruel  than  he  wished  is  his  own  fault. 
That  things  may  turn  out  so,  and  usually  do,  ought  to  be 
well  known  to  a man  of  years,  above  all  to  a man  who  is 
‘accustomed  to  ruling  and  giving  Orders. 

Out  of  the  smoke  and  vapour  of  the  burnt  hut  arise  four 


346 


Zbc  Xife  of  <5oet be 


spirits  of  torture,  Want,  Debt,  Care,  Distress.  But  only 
one  of  them  may  enter  his  palace,  “Care  through  the  keyhole 
an  entrance  may  win.”  Before  she  leaves  him  she  breathes 
upon  him  and  he  goes  blind.  Here  everything  ought  to  be 
clear,  and  yet  it  is  all  obscure.  Hence  it  was  possible  to 
propose  the  odd,  but  ingenious  and  suggestive,  interpreta- 
tion,  that  Faust,  having  grown  old,  has  lost  the  magic  gift 
of  genius,  and  now,  as  a common  mortal  and  dull  Philistine, 
falls  a prey  to  Care,  who  lames  the  productive  activity  of 
genius  and  prepares  man  for  hell.  Thus  Faust  has  lost  his 
wager  and  has  fallen  into  the  power  of  the  devil.  It  will 
still  be  possible,  however,  for  him  to  be  saved,  because  the 
blinding  of  his  soul  is  “due  to  senile  weakness.”51 

Almost  every  point  of  this  Interpretation  is  contradicted 
by  the  wording  of  this  and  the  following  scenes.  One  thing 
above  all  is  clear,  namely,  that  Faust’s  withdrawal  from 
magic  is  not  a lapse  into  the  ways  of  the  Philistine,  but  a 
step  upward  toward  better  and  purer  things.  To  be  sure, 
he  has  not  yet  fought  his  way  to  freedom,  but  he  wishes  he 
had,  and  it  is  at  least  his  intention  to  do  it.52 

Sonnt’  icf)  Wagie  non  meinem  ^fab  entfernen, 

Die  3anberfpnid)c  ganj  unb  gar  nerlernen; 

©tünb’  icf),  9iatnr!  nor  bir  ein  Wann  allein, 

Da  incir’S  ber  Wül)e  inert,  ein  Wenfcf)  gu  fein.* 

May  it  be  that  Care  has  been  sent  with  her  “ miserable  litany  ” 
by  Mephistopheles?  In  any  case  she  is  unable  to  subdue 
Faust  or  check  him  in  his  onward  progress. 

Dod)  beinc  Wadjt,  o ©orge,  fd)leid)enb  grop, 

3d)  roerbe  fie  nidjt  anerfennen.t 

True,  she  does  brand  him  outwardly  with  the  sign  of  her 
power,  when  she  breathes  upon  him  and  he  goes  blind. 

* Could  I my  pathway  rid  of  magic  feil, 

And  totally  unleam  its  secret  spell; 

Stood  I,  O Nature,  man  alone  with  thee, 

’T  were  then  well  worth  the  while  a man  to  be. 
f And  yet,  O Care,  think  not  that  I shall  e’er 
Thy  stealthy,  crushing  power  own. 


jfaust 


347 


“ But  in  my  spirit  shines  a radiant  light.”  Strangely  enough 
it  is  only  after  Faust  has  been  blinded  that  he  works  his 
way  through  to  the  light.  He  now  hastens  to  accomplish 
what  he  has  designed.  Rid  of  magic,  he  seems  on  the  point 
of  freeing  himself  permanently  from  the  devil  also,  who  of 
late  has  been  only  his  servant  in  all  sorts  of  witchery  and 
jugglery.  In  the  end  he  no  longer  has  to  do  with  the  devil, 
but  only  with  the  “overseer”  of' his  working  men.  The 
chief  thing,  the  highest  gain,  so  far  as  his  relation  to  Care 
is  concerned,  is  that  he  now  knows  himself  and  his  limi- 
tations;  he  has  seen  the  immoderateness  of  his  striving 
and  thus  has  been  enabled  to  overcome  it. 

3d)  bin  nur  burd)  bie  SBclt  gerannt. 

(Sin  jcb’  ©eliift  ergriff  id)  bei  ben  paaren, 

5Ba 6 nicht  genügte,  lieft  id)  fahren, 
mir  entroifd)tc,  liefs  id)  giel)n. 

3d)  bnbe  nur  begehrt  unb  nur  Dollbradjt, 

Unb  abermald  genniufdjt  unb  fo  mit  fÖiad)t 
föiein  ßeben  burdjgeftürmt;  erft  graf)  unb  mächtig ; 

9hm  aber  geht  eö  meife,  gebt  bebädjtig.* 

Self-knowledge  is  self-liberation  and  self-limitation.  But 
wise  self-limitation  is  the  opposite  of  what  Mephistopheles 
has  planned  for  him.  The  moment  that  Faust  declares, 

3m  Sßeiterfd) reiten  finb’  er  Qual  unb  ©liüf, 

(Sr!  unbefriebigt  jeben  2tugenbli<f,f 

Mephistopheles  has  unconditionally  lost  the  wager.  He  has 
not  brought  Faust  to  the  point  where  he  would  Stretch  him- 
self, calmed,  upon  a bed  of  ease,  and  at  no  time  has  he  been 

* I have  but  hurried  through  the  world. 

I by  the  hair  each  appetite  have  seized, 

Discarding  what  no  longer  pleased. 

And  what  escaped  me,  letting  go. 

’I  have  but  craved  and  pampered  appetite, 

Then  craved  a second  time,  and  thus  with  might 
I ’ve  stormed  through  life.  At  first  I raged  unmeetly, 

But  now  I move  more  wisely  and  discreetly. 
t Let  progress  him  with  bliss  and  pain  supply, 

And  every  moment  fail  to  satisfy. 


348 


Gbe  Ulfe  of  (Boetbe 


able  to  deceive  him  with  enjoyment.  In  his  contest  with 
the  devil  Faust  relied  on  his  striving,  and  his  striving  never 
ceased. 

Lemures  dig  Faust’s  grave,  while  he  still  hopes  to  win 
fertile  soil  from  the  swamp  and  again  to  provide  roomfor 
many  millions  of  colonists.  In  this  task  as  a task  he 
beholds  joyfully  a supreme  undertaking.  As  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  individual  ethics  now  gives  way  to  social  ethics. 53 
He  sees  himself  with  a free  people  on  a free  soil,  and  thus 
enjoys  really  the  highest  moment,  as  only  a man  of  his 
stamp  can  enjoy  it.  Poetry  and  philosophy  are  again 
combined  in  füllest  unity,  when  he  says: 

3a!  bicfem  ©inne  bin  id)  gang  ergeben, 

3)aS  ift  ber  SBeiSljeit  letzter  ©cfjlufj: 

9hir  ber  nerbient  ftd)  greibeit  tnie  bas  ßeben, 

®er  täglid)  fie  erobern  map. 

Unb  fo  Derbringt,  nmrnngen  Don  ©cfabr, 

$ier  tinbbeit,  9J?atm  nnb  ©rei3  fein  tüchtig  3a§r. 

©old)  ein  ©croimmel  möd)t’  id)  febn, 

5htf  freiem  ©rnnb  mit  freiem  fßolfe  fteljn. 

3nm  Slugenb liefe  bitrft’  ic£)  fagen: 

SSerroeile  bod),  bn  bift  fo  fd)ön! 

©S  fantt  bie  ©pttr  Don  meinen  ©rbentagen 
91id)t  in  $oncn  nntergdjn. — 

3m  ©orgefübl  Don  fokbem  hoben  ©lücf 
©eniefi  id)  fett  ben  f)öd)ften  Slugenblicf.* 


* Yea,  all  my  thought  upon  this  pivot  tums, 

’T  is  wisdom’s  rule,  profound  and  true: 

He  only  life  and  füllest  freedom  earns, 

Who  daily  them  must  win  anew. 

Thus  childhood,  manhood,  age,  all  dwelling  here, 
By  dangers  girt,  may  well  fill  out  the  year. 

Such  busy  throngs  I fain  would  see, 

On  free  soil  stand  amid  a people  free. 

Then  might  I to  the  moment  say: 

Oh!  prithee,  stay!  Thou  art  so  fair! 

The  living  traces  of  my  earthly  day 
This  region  must  through  aeons  bear. 

A vision  of  such  happiness  as  this 
Gives  me  a foretaste  of  the  highest  bliss. 


Jfaust 


349 


From  these  words  it  is  clear  that  Mephistopheles  has  lost 
the  wager  and  Faust  is  saved.  It  is  a question  only  of  a 
wish,  not  of  something  really  attained — “ I fain  would  see,“ 
“then  might  I say ; ” — it  is  not  a real  enjoyment,  but  only  a 
foretaste  of  one.  The  devil  has  failed  to  gain  possession  of 
this  lofty  spirit,  because  of  his  inability  to  comprehend  Faust 
and  bring  his  ideal  striving  to  a standstill;  because  every- 
thing  he  did  to  make  Faust  a common,  blase  pleasure-seeker 
served  only  to  give  new  impetus  to  his  striving  and  make 
him  inwardly  free  from  the  evil  one.  Mephistopheles,  with 
his  evil  wisdom,  has  become  for  Faust  a real  teacher  of 
genuine,  good  wisdom.  To  be  sure,  the  Lord  is  seen  to  have 
been  right,  when  he  said : “ Man  errs  as  long  as  he  -doth 

strive.”  The  saying  has  proved  true  in  Faust’s  life  up  to 
the  last. 

It  was  a “ staying,”  nevertheless,  even  though  but  hypo- 
thetical;  it  was  an  enjoyment  of  “bliss,”  too,  even  though 
but  in  a “foretaste“;  and  so  “The  clock  Stands  still.“ 
“The  index  falls.”  “It  falls,  and  all  is  past.“  “ ’T  is 
finished.”  Faust  is  dead. 

It  is  therefore  necessary  that  there  be  some  public  docu- 
ment,  some  outward,  visible  sign,  to  show  that,  in  spite  of 
appearances,  which  now  speak  in  his  favour,  Mephistopheles 
has  no  right  to  the  soul  of  Faust,  and  that  Faust  is  really 
saved.  This  need  is  supplied  in  the  last  two  scenes  depicting 
the  burial  and  ascension.  The  question,  whether  the  way 
in  which  the  heavenly  hosts  gain  the  victory  over  Mephisto- 
pheles and  his  devils — Mephistopheles  is  inflamed  with 
pathological,  sensuous  love  for  the  beautiful  angels — is 
entirely  in  good  taste,  is  at  least  open  to  doubt.  What 
Goethe  means  by  it  is  clear.  Love  conquers,  it  overcomes 
everything,  even  hell,  the  latter,  we  must  admit,  in  hell’s 
own  way.  Mephistopheles,  true  to  his  part,  recognises  the 
7act7  speaks  ironically  of  himself,  and  complains  in  these 
words : 

Du  bift  getauft  in  beinctt  alten  Dagen, 

Du  baft’S  oerbient,  eb  gebt  bir  grimmig  fd)lecf)t. 

3dj  habe  fd)impflid)  mifsgebanbelt, 


35° 


Ebe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


©in  großer  Slufroanb,  fc^mä^Iid) ! ift  nertan; 

©ernein  ©elüft,  abfnrbe  öiebfetjaft  roatibelt 
Den  ausgepichten  Teufel  an.* 

Are  we  fully  convinced  that  Mephistopheles  has  deserved 
to  lose,  and  that  Faust  has  deserved  to  be  saved?  The 
last  scene  must  decide.  Faust  is  borne  aloft  by  angels  and 
is  received  by  heavenly  hosts. 

©erettet  ift  bas  eble  ©lieb 
Der  ©ciftermclt  nom  Böfen. 

„ 9Ber  immer  ftrebenb  fid)  bemüht, 

Den  fönnen  mir  erlöfen." 

Unb  hat  an  ibm  bic  Siebe  gar 
9hm  oben  teilgcnommen, 
begegnet  if)m  bie  felige  8d)ar 
9J?it  berjlidbem  9Biüfommen.t 

Gretchen  intercedes  for  him,  and  the  Chorus  Mysticus  sums 
up  the  whole  in  the  closing  lines, 

9llteS  Vergängliche 
3 ft  nur  ein  ©leidmiS, 

Das  Ungulänglidje, 

§icr  roirb’S  ©rcigtiiS; 

DaS  llnbcfchreibliche, 

§ier  ift’S  getan; 

DaS  ©roig-9BcibIid)e 
3iel)t  unS  t)iuan.  % 

* In  my  old  days  I thus  am  sore  deceived; 

This  sorry  plight  I truly  do  deserve. 

I ’ve  acted  in  disgraceful  fashion, 

An  outlay  vast  I ’ve  scandalously  lost. 

To  think  that  common  lust  and  senseless  passion 
The  calloused  devil’s  plans  have  crossed! 
fThis  noble  soul  deservingly 
Hath  found  from  hell  exemption. 

“Whoever  strives  unswervingly 
Can  gain  through  us  redemption.” 

And  if  celestial  love 

With  grace  and  favour  treat  him, 

The  blessed  angels  from  above 
With  hearty  welcome  greet  him. 
t All  things  ephemeral 
As  Symbols  remain; 


Faust 


351 


Is  this  ending  satisf actory  ? That  is  the  last  question. 
In  Order  to  answer  it  we  must  cast  a backward  glance  over 
the  whole  Second  Part,  including  its  form  and  style,  and  our 
answer  will  serve  as  a closing  criticism  of  the  whole. 

The  fault  that  has  been  found  with  the  close  of  Goethe’  s 
Faust  is  that  it  is  too  Gothico-romantic,  that  the  fable  of 
the  drama,  born  of  the  spirit  of  Protestantism  and  taken 
over  and  treated  as  Protestant  by  Goethe,  is  here  at  the 
close  turned  round  into  Catholicism.  And  it  is  true;  the 
whole  Christian  world  of  the  Middle  Ages,  legends,  cult  of 
the  Virgin  Mary,  purgatory,  scholasticism, — all  are  here.54 
That  is  indeed  a departure  from  the  original  spirit  and  style. 
But  the  criticism  goes  still  deeper. 

In  the  first  place  the  character  of  the  closing  scene  leads 
to  an  inconsisteney  in  the  last  act  itself.  Faust  has  just 
declared,  with  firmness  and  determination,  his  belief  in  the 
life  this  side  of  the  grave. 

9tad)  bri'tben  ift  bie  Slnäficht  un§  oerrannt; 

£or!  toer  bortbin  bie  Singen  blinjelnb  richtet, 

«Sich  über  SBolfen  feineögleichen  bittet! 

(Sr  ftefie  feft  nnb  fefie  hier  ficfi  um; 

®em  Süchtigen  ift  biefe  SB  eit  nicht  ftutnm; 

SBae  braucht  er  in  bie  (Sroigfeit  ju  [chtneifen! *  * 

After  this  fresh,  happy  declaration,  by  a modern  man, 
of  his  faith  in  the  present  life,  we  cannot  possibly  become 
reconciled  to  that  close,  incense-laden  atmosphere  of  the 
mediaeval  forecourt  of  heaven.  Philosophy  and  poetry  are 

Things  there  impossible 
Here  we  attain ; 

Things  there  a mystery 
Here  wisdom  prove; 

Th’  Eternal-Womanly 
Draws  us  above. 

* The  great  beyond  is  barred  from  mortal  ken; 

A fool,  who  thither  turns  his  blinking  eyes 
And  fancies  humankind  above  the  skies! 

Firm  let  him  stand,  the  world  about  him  Scan, 

This  life  ’s  not  mute  to  the  all-active  man; 

What  need  hath  he  through  the  beyond  to  roam  ? 


352 


£be  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


again  far  from  being  harmoniously  blended.  But,  some  one 
will  say,  such  a scene  leading  to  the  future  life  was  necessary 
to  corroborate  and  objectify  Faust’s  Salvation,  just  as  the 
scene  of  the  “Prologue”  at  the  beginning  was  laid  in  heaven. 
Certainly;  but  who  thinks  of  the  beyond  during  that  ma- 
jestic  overture?  We  may  say  of  it  with  Mephistopheles, 
though  in  another  sense,  “ How  handsome  it  is  of  the  Lord 
to  speak  so  humanly  here!”  If  it  had  been  portrayed  in 
the  style  of  the  “Prologue,”  Faust’s  admission  into  heaven 
would  have  been  beautiful,  grand,  glorious,  whereas  this 
legendary  heaven,  with  its  Mater  Gloriosa,  its  penitent  wo- 
men, its  angel  choruses,  its  Pater  Profundus,  and  Doctor 
Marianus,  not  only  does  not  lead  us  into  the  illusion,  it 
actually  disturbs  the  illusion,  and,  instead  of  impressing  us 
as  a symbol,  appeals  to  us  only  as  an  allegory,  and  thus 
leaves  us  cold.  Goethe  himself  seems  to  have  feit  this  and 
to  have  thought  originally  of  a great  judgment  scene,  in  the 
style  of  Michael  Angelo,  in  which  Faust’s  salvation  should  be 
proclaimed  by  Christ,  as  the  vice-regent,  or  by  the  Lord  him- 
self. It  is  a pity  that  he  did  not  write  the  scene,  for  now  we 
miss  especially  the  words  declaring  that  Faust  has  been 
justly  saved.  The  “Prologue”  pointed  forward  to  them 
and  we  have  a right  to  expect  them. 

This  again  takes  us  deeper.  Faust’s  admission  to  heaven 
is  intended  as  a mere  symbol,  it  is  thought  of  as  such  from 
the  beginning,  and  the  Chorus  Mysticus  says  so  expressiv, 
“All  things  ephemeral  as  symbols  remain.”  It  is  a symbol 
for  the  idea  of  self-redemption  by  means  of  moral  striving, 
that  is,  Faust  must  be  redeemed  before  he  can  gain  admis- 
sion into  heaven.  What  are  the  facts?  “ Whoever  strives 
unswervingly,  can  gain  through  us  redemption.”  Has  Faust 
striven  unswervingly,  in  the  moral  sense,  the  sense  concerned 
in  the  world  of  action  ? Has  he  redeemed  himself  in  this  sense  ? 
Such  was  necessarily  Goethe’s  intention  and  he  so  presents 
Faust’s  course  of  education  and  development.  It  was  on 
this  account  that  Faust  had  to  enter  the  great  world,  had  to 
be  active,  and  in  his  actions  manifest  his  character  and 
prove  his  worth.  Where  did  he  do  these  things?  At  the 


353 


Jfaust 

Imperial  Court  he  made  paper  money,  directed  festivals, 
conjured  up  Helena ; but  the  most  even  of  this  he  did  not 
do  himself,  Mephistopheles  did  it  for  him.  In  the  Classical 
Walpurgis  Night,  to  which  he  is  guided  by  Homunculus, 
whom  another  has  made,  the  opportunity  to  make  him  at 
least  deliver  a great  oration  before  Proserpine  is  allowed  to 
pass  by,  so  to  speak,  at  the  last  hour.  By  Helena,  whom  he 
hardly  has  to  protect  seriously,  he  has  a son  Euphorion. 
This  is  meant  allegorically,  but  even  behind  the  allegory  there 
is  no  moral  significance,  at  most  the  idea  of  an  esthetical 
education  of  mankind,  which  must  precede  everything, 
even  morality.  But,  as  it  Stands,  this  latter  Supplement 
is  wanting;  the  whole  is  an  esthetical,  not  an  ethical, 
allegory.  In  the  fourth  act  Faust  overcomes  a temptation 
which  comes  to  him,  but  it  is  not  a very  great  one.  Then, 
as  a matter  of  fact,  the  victory  over  the  rival  Emperor  is  won 
by  Mephistopheles  with  the  aid  of  the  three  “ allegorical 
scoundrels,”  and  all  kinds  of  hellish  illusions;  but  Faust  is 
rewarded  for  the  deed  and  receives  the  strand  as  a fief. 
He  now  has  at  last  an  opportunity  for  moral  activity,  and  in 
the  fifth  act  he  has  really  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
passive  enjoyment  makes  one  common,  and  that  moral 
activity  with  others  and  for  others,  public  spirit,  has  the 
highest  value  and  is  the  highest  achievement.  Thus  we  see 
him  as  a ruler  carrying  on  the  work  of  civilisation  on  a 
grand  scale  and  in  a liberal  spirit.  Yet  in  view  of  the  cir- 
cumstance  that  Goethe  brings  forward  prominently  the 
“ generically  ” correct  principle,  that  civilisation  does  not 
progress  without  some  acts  of  violence,  and  that  he  here 
again,  as  always,  places  the  use  of  magic  powers  at  Faust’s 
disposal,  and  does  not  make  his  renunciation  of  magic  ad- 
vance  beyond  the  stage  of  mere  desire,  the  moral  side  of  his 
activity  retires  again  to  the  background.  We  see  indeed 
that  he  has  become  moral,  but  the  process  of  his  becoming 
so  we  have  not  witnessed.  Hence  there  is  no  motive  for 
Faust’s  redemption,  at  least  no  sufficient  motive. 

Faust,  who  has  become  moral,  is  redeemed;  but  moral 
deeds  have  been  almost  wholly  wanting,  and  so  the  final  act 


354 


Zbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


must  leave  us  unsatisfied.  It  does  not  make  it  clear  to  our 
minds  that  the  Lord  has  won  the  wager,  and  why  He  has 
won.  The  devil  is  taken  unawares,  if  not  deceived,  and 
Faust  goes  to  heaven  undeservedly,  out  of  sheer  grace.  So 
it  must  appear,  at  least,  to  one  who  looks,  not  at  the  will, 
but  at  the  accomplishment,  and  in  a drama  the  latter  point 
of  view  is  the  only  one  admissible.  Of  course,  like  every 
other  man,  Faust  needs  the  grace,  the  pardoning  love, 
that  is  here  bestowed  upon  him.  But  a pardon  without 
moral  grounds,  an  act  of  mercy  with  only  an  outward,  and 
no  in  ward,  moral  motive,  is  characteristic  of  mediaeval 
ecclesiasticism,  not  of  modern  ethics.  And  Goethe’s  point 
of  view  was,  of  course,  the  latter,  not  the  former.  Hence  the 
criticism  is  justified  that  the  close  of  Faust  is  too  Catholic, 
or  better,  too  ecclesiastical,  where  it  should  be  purely 
human  and  purely  ethical.  That  Goethe  intended  that  it 
should  be  human  and  ethical  is  shown  by  the  wonderful 
words,  “ Whoever  strives  unswervingly  can  gain  through  us 
redemption”;  but  in  the  midst  of  the  scenic  and  operatic 
effects  of  the  closing  scene  these  words  are  lost  on  the  stage. 

The  impression  of  the  undeservedness  of  Faust’s  redemp- 
tion is  further  strengthened  by  another  feature.  As  though 
the  poet  had  feit  that  everything  was  not  in  order,  that 
Faust’s  education  and  purification  were  not  yet  finished, 
we  find  the  supplementary  remarks,  the  esthetically  repul- 
sive  one  about  the  earthly  remains — “ They  are  not  cleanly  ” 
— and  the  one  of  the  Blessed  Boys, 

35ocf)  biefer  Ijat  gelernt, 

@r  roirb  un§  lehren.* 

The  scoffing  reference  to  Faust  asa“  heavenly  schoolmaster 
for  boys”  is  not  at  all  needed  to  make  us  see  that  in  the 
above  words  the  end  is  again  postponed.  Now  at  last,  to 
make  up  for  lost  time  and  opportunity,  as  it  were,  Faust  is 
really  to  do  something! 

* But  he  is  leamed  in  life 
And  he  will  teach  us. 


jfaust 


355 


In  what  has  been  said  we  have  already  referred  to  the 
form  and  style  of  the  closing  scene  and  of  the  Second  Part 
in  general,  or  at  least  large  portions  of  it.  The  operatic 
elements,  which  are  found  at  the  very  beginning  and  are 
heaped  up  and  crowded  in  at  the  end,  need  be  referred  to 
but  once  more.  It  is  particularly  these  elements  that  make 
this  heaven  Catholic,  whereas  in  the  Protestant  heaven  of 
the  “Prologue”  spoken  words  and  freer  language  are  the 
rule.  We  have  already  said,  too,  that  in  the  Second  Part 
much  has  been  left  obscure  and  incomprehensible.  This  is 
due  in  a measure  to  the  heaping  up  of  the  allegorical.  But 
allegory  is  not  poetry,  and  the  necessity  of  a commentary 
enhances  our  pleasure  and  enjoyment  just  as  little  as  it  does 
in  the  case  of  Dante. 

This  tendency  to  allegorise  has  also  influenced  the 
language  of  the  Second  Part.  With  all  the  beauty  of  in- 
dividual passages,  a certain  grandiloquence  has  crowded  out 
the  simplicity ; the  language  is  often  stilted  and  over-adorned ; 
there  are  evident  traces  of  Goethe’s  much  decried  “old-age 
style.”  For  example,  a decidedly  comical  effect  is  produced 
by  the  passage  in  the  first  act,  where  Faust  receives  from 
Mephistopheles  the  key  and  the  instructions  for  his  journey 
to  the  Mothers:  {Faust  strikes  a decidedly  commanding 
attitude  with  the  key) . Mephistopheles  {observing  him) : 

“There,  that  is  right!  ’T  will  join  and  slave-like  follow 
thee  to  light.”  Or,  let  us  listen  to  the  chorus  of  rose- 
strewing  angels  at  the  burial  of  Faust  in  the  fif th  act : 

Sftofen,  iljr  blenbenben, 

ÜBalfam  üerfenbcnben ! 
glatternbe,  fdjroebenbe, 

§dmlid)  bclebenbe, 

Stodgldn  beflügelte, 

Änofpen  entfiegelte, 

@ilet  3U  blüfjn. 


grüfjling  entfpriefje, 
Purpur  imb  ©riin! 


356 


Gbe  %ite  of  (Soetbe 


£ragt  ^ßarabiefe 
®em  üftuljenbcn  Ijin.* 

Is  that  simple?  Is  it  beautiful?  Perhaps  the  objection 
may  be  raised  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  dispute  about 
matters  of  taste.  Let  us  admit  it.  We  might  perhaps  say, 
then : Whoever  considers  the  style  of  the  First  Part  beautiful 
cannot  be  pleased  with  the  pompous,  often  intricate,  style 
of  the  Second  Part.  And  one  who  likes  the  latter  cannot 
possibly  have  a right  appreciation  of  the  strength  and  simple 
beauty,  the  matchless  sturdiness  and  purely  human  tender- 
ness,  of  the  former.  Hence  whoever  considers  the  First 
Part  a supreme  achievement,  an  unsurpassed  masterpiece 
of  poetry,  must  not  allow  his  veneration  for  Goethe  to 
prevent  him  from  confessing  that  neither  in  the  substance 
or  form  of  the  Second  Part,  as  a whole,  can  he  find  the 
same  unmixed  pleasure.  That  it  is  rieh  in  beautiful  in- 
dividual passages  is  beyond  question.  Indeed  one  who 
assumes  a critical  and  skeptical  attitude  toward  the  whole 
will  rejoice  all  the  more  over  the  individual  passages  in 
which  he  finds  beauty  and  an  occasion  to  recognise  it  as 
such. 

But  we  dare  not  close  here.  In  order  to  do  justice  to 
the  Second  Part  we  must  cast  one  more  glance  at  the  whole 
drama.  Faust  is  not  the  embodiment  of  an  abstract  idea; 
he  is  a man,  an  individual,  and  hence,  as  the  hero  of  the 
drama,  has  human  feelings  and  human  strivings,  and  be- 
cause,  in  his  impatient  idealism,  he  runs  into  hindrances, 
he  is  deeply  wounded,  imbitter ed,  and  driven  to  despair. 

* Roses,  ye  glowing  ones, 

Balsam -bestowing  ones! 

Fluttering,  hovering, 

Life-founts  still  covering, 

Branchlets  with  plumy  wing, 

Buds  ripe  for  opening, 

Haste  your  full  sheen ! 

Spring  show  its  splendour, 

Purple  and  green, 

Paradise  tender 
The  sleeper  serene. 


tfauöt 


357 


Grasping  violently  after  the  enjoyment  of  life  and  activity 
denied  him,  after  the  All  and  the  Absolute,  he  remains  un- 
satisfied,  because  he  storms  through  his  life  so  immoderately 
and  unrestrainedly,  tili,  in  harmonious  esthetical  education 
and  ethical  social  activity,  he  finds  moderation  and  self- 
limitation  and  learns  to  keep  within  bounds.  Such  is  Faust 
and  such  was  Goethe.  Hence  Faust  was  the  life-work  of  the 
poet.  Herein  alone  lies  the  unity  of  this  “ incommensurable  ” 
work, 55  which,  after  the  manner  of  Götz,  dramatises  the 
history  of  Faust,  and,  like  an  epic,  makes  him  pass  through 
a whole  human  life  before  our  eyes.  But  in  the  process  the 
poet  allows  the  drama  to  grow  beyond  the  fate  of  this  one 
individual  and  become  a picture  of  the  time,  nay  more,  a 
picture  of  the  world  and  mankind.  Faust,  this  great  in- 
dividual, this  gifted  man,  now  becomes  man  in  general, 
the  representative  of  mankind.  His  tragedy  becomes  the 
human  tragedy,  his  drama  the  drama  of  the  human  race, 
his  salvation  and  admission  to  heaven  a symbol  of  the 
victory  of  the  good  in  history.  Thus  the  individual  is 
widened  out  to  the  universal  human.  Therein  lies  the 
greatness  of  the  play.  But  therein  lay  also  for  the  poet  the 
difficulty  of  completing  and  binding  together  the  whole  to  a 
well-rounded  dramatic  unity.  Whereas  in  the  Urfaust  the 
dramatic  bore  a deep  lyric  tinge,  in  the  Second  Part  it 
assumes  a marked  epic  form. 

The  fact  that  Faust  never  fails  to  produce  a deep  im- 
pression  is  due  to  this  widening  out  to  the  universal  human. 
Since  in  this  single  play  we  all  find  portrayed  one  side  or 
another  of  ourselves,  our  strivings  and  experiences,  it  seems 
flesh  of  our  own  flesh  and  bone  of  our  own  bone  and  always 
arouses  our  interest.  This  interest  never  fades;  it  cannot 
fade.  The  longer  we  live,  the  more  we  advance  in  know- 
ledge  and  activity,  in  victory  and  defeat,  in  good  and  evil, 
the  higher  we  climb  toward  the  summits  of  humanity,  and  the 
deeper  we  see  down  into  the  depths  of  human  life  and  the 
human  breast,  with  its  dark  shadows  of  evil  and  sorrow, 
and  its  triumphant  core  of  goodness  and  power,  the  more 
we  become  inwardly  attached  to  Goethe’s  Faust,  the  more  it 


358 


£be  Xife  of  Goetbe 


becomes  to  us  a revelation  of  our  own  lives  and  strivings, 
and  the  more  it  must  win  our  love. 

We  may  count  ourselves  happy  if  it  is,  above  all,  these 
two  principles  which  we  derive  from  it  and  understand,  the 
proud  declaration,  “ Passive  enjoyment  makes  one  common,” 
and  the  precious  assurance,  “ Whoever  strives  unswervingly 
can  find  through  us  redemption.”  Thus  in  the  final  analysis 
Faust  is  after  all  a deeply  ethical  work.  It  protects  us 
against  all  sorts  of  evil  spirits  and  holds  up  before  us  that 
ethical  idealism,  which  learns,  and  must  learn,  to  seize  a 
firm  foothold  on  the  real  ground  of  this  present  world  and 
to  find  in  it  our  tasks  and  duties,  our  sorrows  and  joys,  the 
gospel  of  the  reconciliation  of  the  modern  man  with  life  on 
the  earth  and  with  the  divine  revealed  in  it,  the  optimistic 
confession  of  faith  in  the  triumph  of  the  Kingdom  of  God 
on  earth. 


VIII 

LAST  DAYS 

Goethe  wamed  by  illness  to  set  his  house  in  Order — The  last  works  he 
finished — Interests  and  occupations  of  his  last  days — His  last 
distinguished  guests — His  last  birthday — Visit  to  Ilmenau — 
Wanderers  Nachtlied — Goethe  sets  his  house  in  order — His 
religion — Last  illness  and  death — The  funeral — Goethe’s  sig- 
nificance  to  Germany  and  the  whole  world . 

IN  November,  1830,  a hemorrhage  brought  Goethe  near 
death ; but  it  was  wonderful  how  quickly,  for  a man  of 
eighty-one,  he  recovered  from  the  severe  attack.  It 
was  but  a warning  that  he  should  make  the  most  of  the 
short  spaee  of  time,  which,  according  to  human  calculation, 
he  might  still  expect  to  live,  and  that  he  should  in  every 
respect  set  his  house  in  order.  With  this  in  mind  he  wrote 
to  Knebel:  “My  dearest  friend,  since  we  have  had  the  good 
fortune  to  recover  from  this  attack,  we  intend  to  enjoy  the 
days  which  may  still  be  granted  us  and  see  to  it  that  there 
be  for  us  no  lack  of  activity  for  ourselves  and  others.” 

And  he  really  did  see  to  it  that  there  was  no  lack  of  such 
activity,  as  is  proved  by  his  work  on  the  fourth  part  of  Dich- 
tung und  Wahrheit,  which  he  had  not  finished  until  now, 
and  which  continued  the  narrative  of  his  life  up  to  his  ar- 
rival  in  Weimar.  It  is  proved  above  all  by  the  completion 
of  Faust,  of  which  we  have  had  a detailed  account.  Only 
when  this  “chief  business”  was  done  could  he  say  to  Ecker- 
mann : “ My  further  life  I can  now  look  upon  as  a pure  gift, 
and  it  is  now  at  bottom  immaterial  what  I do,  and  whether 
I do  anything  at  all  or  not.”  But  in  reality  that  was  only 

359 


Zhe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


36° 

his  “chief  business.”  Along  with  it  he  continued  his 
“ supervisory  ” duties,  that  is,  his  share  of  the  administrative 
government,  so  far  as  he  had  kept  any  such  duties.  His  old 
interests  still  remained ; he  still  retained,  as  he  himself  says, 
“the  faculty  of  recognising  with  enthusiasm  the  good,  the 
beautiful,  and  the  excellent.”  In  the  foreground  stood,  as 
always,  art  and  nature.  By  the  many  things  that  came  to 
him  and  were  laid  before  him  from  all  sides  his  interest  was 
kept  alive,  and  he  in  turn  endeavoured  to  stimulate  others 
and  help  them.  He  was  interested  far  less  in  the  July 
revolution  than  in  the  controversy  between  Cuvier  and 
Geoffroy  Saint-Hilaire.  He  was  pleased  to  see  that  through 
the  efforts  of  the  latter  the  “synthetic”  method  of  dealing 
with  nature  was  gaining  recognition  in  France,  and  he  hoped 
that  in  the  investigations  of  nature  in  that  country  mind 
would  now  rule  victoriously  over  matter.  He  saw  therein 
the  triumph  of  his  own  cause,  the  recognition  of  his  labours 
in  the  field  of  natural  science.  He  sent  a French  translation 
of  his  Metamorphose  der  Pflanzen  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences 
at  Paris,  and  was  grateful  for  the  favourable  reception  with 
which  it  met.  Along  with  his  continued  work  and  study 
in  metamorphosis,  the  theory  of  colours,  geology,  and 
meteorology,  he  read  “for  recreation  and  invigoration ” 
Galileo’s  Dialogues,  and  found  them  “most  edifying” 
reading;  for  here  lies  “the  Christmas  feast  of  our  more 
modern  times.” 

Added  to  all  this  was  his  never-ending  inclination  to 
make  himself  acquainted  with  the  works  of  foreign  litera- 
tures,  and,  as  might  have  been  expected,  he  did  not  always 
come  upon  things  that  were  edifying.  His  criticism  of 
Victor  Hugo’s  Notre  Dame  de  Paris  was  unusually  adverse: 
“ A literature  of  despair  out  of  which  step  by  Step  every- 
thing  true  and  esthetical  is  being  self-banished.”  On  the 
other  hand  he  enjoyed  reading  Plutarch’s  Lives  and  Euripi- 
des.  He  was  Glied  with  admiration  for  Euripides  because 
of  his  great,  unique  talent,  as  well  as  the  wide  field  that  he 
covered  and  the  powerful  emotions  that  he  portrayed. 

Thus  his  life  remained  a life  full  of  activity  and  work. 


Xast 


361 

And  since,  after  the  death  of  August,  the  “ duties  of  a house- 
father”  had  again  devolved  upon  him,  there  was  no  lack 
of  all  sorts  of  petty  cares  and  annoyances,  as  though  he  were 
destined  not  to  remain  a stranger  to  anything  human.  At 
the  dismissal  of  a cook  he  breathed  the  sigh  of  relief , “ Freed 
from  this  bürden  I was  able  to  take  up  important  work.” 

He  had  time  for  all  these  things,  both  great  and  small, 
because  outwardly  his  life  went  along  without  disturbance, 
“calm  and  composed,”  as  he  himself  says.  And  yet  very 
many  stränge  eyes  peered  into  the  garden  of  his  monastery. 
The  number  of  visitors  who  wished  to  see  the  famous  man 
and  pay  him  their  homage  did  not  grow  smaller  during  his 
last  days.  Beside  the  acquaintances  and  friends  in  Weimar 
and  Jena,  who  were  seen  at  his  home,  there  came  the  curious 
and  the  admiring  from  all  Germany,  indeed  from  the  whole 
civilised  world . The  guest  of  highest  rank  in  his  last  year 
was  the  King  of  Württemberg,  a thoroughly  clever  man, 
but  wholly  lacking  in  poetry.  Goethe  was  all  the  more 
pleased  that  the  King  “seemed  to  have  enjoyed  his  visit.” 
The  most  illustrious  of  his  guests  was  Alexander  von  Hum- 
boldt, to  whom  he  was  “highly  grateful  for  a few  hours  of 
frank,  friendly  conversation,”  and  whose  enormous  störe  of 
knowledge  he  admired  as  much  as  his  “incredible  social 
influence.”  Those  whose  society  he  loved  most  were  those 
nearest  him,  his  daughter-in-law  Ottilie,  in  whose  praise  he 
said  that  she  was  always  entertaining  and  always  had  some- 
thing  new  to  öfter,  and  his  grandsons,  particularly  Wölfehen, 
who  won  an  especially  warm  place  in  his  grandfather’s 
heart.  It  is  touching  to  see  how  much  the  great  man  was 
wrapped  up  in  this  little  world  of  human  beings  and  what 
importance  he  attached  to  whatever  they  thought,  said,  or 
did. 

So  he  preferred  to  spend  all  his  last  days  in  his  own  house. 
He  did  not  even  drive  out  regularly.  Only  once  did  he  go 
away  from  Weimar.  It  was  at  the  time  of  his  last  birthday, 
in  August,  1831,  when  he  spent  a few  days  in  Ilmenau.  Here 
he  visited  once  more  the  old  familiär  places  full  of  memories 
of  youthful  days  and  was  especially  glad  to  be  able  to  show 


362 


Zbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


them  to  his  grandsons,  whom  he  had  taken  with  him.  On 
the  wall  of  the  lonely  little  wood  hut  on  the  Gickelhahn  he 
read  the  verses  which  he  had  written  there  on  the  6th  of 
September,  1780: 

Über  allen  ©ipfeln 
3ft  9tul), 

3n  allen  SBipfdn 
Spiireft  bu 

tanm  einen  §>aucf); 

£)ie  SSögelein  fcbroetgen  im  Sßalbe. 

SSBarte  nnr,  halbe 

Stu^eft  bn  auch.* 

‘ Yes,  wait,  and  ere  long  thou,  too,  shalt  rest,”  he  repeated 
in  a soft,  melancholy  tone,  and  wiped  away  the  tears  which 
flowed  down  over  his  cheeks.  Even  in  this  rural  quiet  he 
did  not  entirely  escape  ovations;  but  here  they  were  more 
spontaneous  and  were  therefore  less  burdensome  to  him. 

Feeling  that  he  was  rapidly  approaching  the  boundary 
drawn  for  human  life,  he  set  his  house  in  order,  even  in  out- 
ward things.  His  “ testamentary  troubles”  extend  through 
many  of  his  letters  and  show  how  tenderly  and  faithfully  he 
remembered  those  who  had  stood  near  him  in  life.  For 
example,  he  set  apart  the  income  from  his  Briefwechsel 
mit  Zelter,  which  he  himself  prepared  for  publication,  for 
Zelter’s  unmarried  daughters.  He  did  not  like  to  speak  of 
dying.  He  was  too  healthy  a nature  for  that,  and  life  still 
had  too  much  to  offer  him  for  him  to  care  to  lose  himself  in 
thoughts  of  death.  We  know  that,  as  he  never  grew  tired  of 
life,  he  clung  firmly  to  the  belief  in  immortality.  His  prac- 
tical  thought  on  the  subject  was  this : “ A man  of  character 

* On  every  mountain  brow 
Is  peace, 

No  tree  but  now 

The  winds  fast  cease 
To  wave  its  crest; 

The  little  birds  hush  their  song. 

Then  wait — ere  long 

Thou.  too,  shalt  rest. 


363 


Xaßt  Bass 

and  energy,  who  expects  to  be  something  worth  while  in  this 
life,  and  hence  has  to  labour,  strive,  and  struggle  daily, 
leaves  the  future  worid  to  take  care  of  itself,  and  is  active 
and  useful  in  this  worid.”  Having  long  ago  become  a sage 
there  were  no  longer  any  essential  changes  to  be  made  in 
his  philosophy  of  the  worid.  He  remained  the  pious  pan- 
theist  that  he  had  been  since  the  days  of  his  youth.  But  in 
his  relation  to  Christianity  he  still  had  some  things  to  atone 
for.  Not  as  though  he  had  feit  a desire  to  change  his  per- 
sonal attitude  toward  it.  The  revelation  of  the  divine  in  the 
human  and  the  ethical  remained  to  him,  as  ever,  no  higher 
than  the  revelation  of  the  Supreme  Being  in  the  sun,  in 
light,  and  the  generative  power  of  God,  before  which  he 
bowed,  just  as  he  gladly  showed  worshipful  reverence  for 
Christ,  the  divine  revelation  of  the  highest  principle  of 
morality.  Even  his  aversion  for  the  Cross,  from  which  he 
derived  no  comfort,  either  esthetic  or  religious,  remained 
unchanged.  In  the  Church  he  now  saw  as  before  something 
“feeble  and  changeable,”  and  in  its  decrees  he  found  a 
“great  dealof  stupidity.”  But  historically,  in  certain  peri- 
ods  of  his  life,  particularly  during  the  years  after  his  return 
from  Italy,  he  had  been  far  from  just  toward  Christianity. 
Now,  eleven  days  before  his  death,  Eckermann  gave  him  an 
opportunity  to  testify  concerning  the  gospels  that  “they 
are  permeated  with  the  reflection  of  a majesty,  which  pro- 
ceeds  from  the  person  of  Christ,  and  is  of  as  divine  a nature 
as  any  manifestation  of  the  divine  that  has  ever  appeared 
on  the  earth.”  “The  human  mind  will  never  advance  be- 
yond  the  majesty  and  moral  culture  of  Christianity,  as  it 
glistens  and  shines  in  the  gospels.”  What  is  meant  by  this 
is  shown  by  what  he  said  of  that  story  of  the  New  Testament 
which  teils  that  one  day  when  Christ  was  walking  on  the  sea 
Peter  came  out  on  the  waves  to  meet  him  and  began  to 
sink:  “This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  legends,  and  I love 
it  best  of  all.  In  it  is  contained  the  great  lesson  that  man 
through  faith  and  fresh  courage  will  come  off  victorious  in 
the  most  difhcult  undertaking,  but  he  is  straightway  lost 
when  the  least  doubt  comes  over  him.”  Himself,  in  his 


£be  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 


364 

own  way,  a man  of  “faith,”  he  could  thus,  with  liberality 
and  pure  humanity,  admit  even  a miracle,  the  dearest  child 
of  faith.  This  recognition  of  the  moral  majesty  and  power  of 
Christianity  is  at  the  same  time  a proof  that  his  pantheism 
had  long  ago  become  more  comprehensive,  and  richer  in 
content,  and  that  along  with  the  natural  it  had  conceded 
equal  rights  to  the  moral.  “ For  the  independent  conscience 
is  the  sun  of  thy  moral  day.”  Then  for  the  first  time  Goethe 
was  wholly  pious  and  could  say:  Everything  is  God’s. 

The  last  gap  was  now  filled  and  death  could  come.  And 
it  came  at  the  right  time,  before  age,  which  had  not  quite 
passed  by  him  without  leaving  a trace,  broke  down  his 
strong  body  and  destroyed  his  triumphant  spirit.  In  the 
rough  March  days  of  the  year  1832  he  took  a cold;  on  the 
iöth  he  was  obliged  to  take  to  his  bed.  The  last  entry  in  his 
diary  runs:  “Spent  the  whole  day  in  bed  on  account  of  ill- 
ness.”  It  was  a catarrhal  fever,  which  his  physician,  Privy 
Councillor  Vogel  of  Weimar,  immediately  considered  dan- 
gerous.  But  at  first  Goethe  got  better  again  and  had  already 
resumed  his  usual  occupations,  when  during  the  night  of  the 
i9th  chills  and  violent  pains  in  the  ehest  set  in.  Oppression 
of  the  lungs  filled  him  with  anxiety  and  torturing  unrest, 
the  features  of  his  face  contracted,  his  colour  faded  to  an 
ashy  grey,  his  eyes  receded  into  their  sockets  and  looked 
blurred  and  weak.  His  senses  began  to  fail  him  and  he  was 
at  times  unconscious;  the  intervals  of  clear  consciousness 
came  farther  and  farther  apart  and  grew  shorter  and  shorter. 
It  became  hard  for  him  to  speak  and  his  words  grew  indis- 
tinct.  Death  might  come  at  any  moment.  It  cannot  be 
established  with  certainty  what  were  his  last  words.  He  is 
reported  to  have  said  to  his  daughter-in-law : “Now,  little 
woman,  give  me  your  good  hand.”  To  the  servant  he  called 
out:  “Open  also  the  second  shutter  in  the  room,  so  that 
more  light  may  come  in.”  From  this  command  the  words 
“More  light!”  have  been  chosen  as  symbolical  and  are 
often  quoted  as  Goethe’s  last  utterance.  When  his  tongue 
completely  failed  him  he  drew  signs  in  the  air  with  the 
index  finger  of  his  right  hand.  Those  who  were  present 


365 


Xaöt  2)a^ö 

assert  with  positiveness  that  they  recognised  the  letter  W. 
At  half  past  eleven — it  was  the  22d  of  March,  1832 — “the 
dying  man  settled  back  comfortably  in  the  left  corner  of 
the  easy  chair,  and  it  was  long  before  those  standing  about 
him  could  realise  that  Goethe  had  been  taken  away.  Thus 
an  uncommonly  peaceful  death  made  full  the  measure  of 
happiness  of  a richly  endowed  existence.”  With  these 
words  his  physician  closes  the  account  of  Goethe’s  last 
illness. 56 

The  news  of  his  death  aroused  universal  sympathy  in 
Weimar  and  the  whole  surrounding  region,  and  it  was 
natural  that  many  should  desire  once  more  to  behold  the 
face  of  the  great  departed.  Their  request  was  acceded  to, 
though  it  was  not  in  keeping  with  Goethe’s  views.  So  he 
lay  in  state  on  the  ground  floor  of  his  house,  dressed  in  a 
garment  of  white  satin  in  the  old  Florentine  style,  his  head 
crowned  with  laurel. 57  A black  velvet  cloth,  set  with 
silver,  covered  the  lower  part  of  his  body  up  to  his  breast. 
In  the  hall  hung  Goethe’s  coat  of  arms,  a six-pointed  silver 
star  in  the  blue  field.  The  opening  of  the  door  was  draped 
in  black  and  above  it  were  placed,  in  letters  of  gold,  the 
words  from  Hermann  und  Dorothea, 

®eS  TobeS  tül)renbeS  ÜBilb  ftet)t 

91id)t  als  ©rfjrecfen  bem  SBeifen,  unb  nid)t  als  (Üinbe  bem  grommen. 

Seiten  brängt  eS  inS  Geben  jnri'uf  unb  lehret  it)n  fabeln; 

Diefetn  ftcirfteS,  gu  fünftigem  £eil,  im  Srübfal  bie  Hoffnung: 

Reiben  tnirbgum  Geben  ber  £ob.* 

The  funeral  occurred  at  five  o’clock  in  the  aftemoon  of 
the  2Öth  of  March,  and  the  sarcophagus  was  placed  beside 
that  containing  the  remains  of  Schiller,  in  the  grand-ducal 
burial  vault.  Many  thousands  of  people  filled  the  streets; 
the  windows,  even  the  roofs  and  the  trees,  along  the  avenue 

* The  picture  of  death,  though  affecting, 

Fills  not  the  wise  man  with  terror,  is  not  the  end  to  the  pious. 

Back  it  urges  the  former  to  life,  and  teaches  him  action; 

Thus  for  the  latter  in  sorrow  it  strengthens  the  hope  of  salvation ; 

So  to  both  of  them  death  becomes  life. 


366 


Gbe  Xtfe  of  (Boetbe 


through  which  the  procession  passed,  were  occupied.  In  the 
chapel  a chorus  sang  the  words,  written  by  Goethe  and  set 
to  music  by  Zelter, 

Saft  fafjren  E)in  ba$  9lHgupd)tige ! 

3f)r  fudjt  bei  ibm  nergebeng  Ölat; 

3n  bem  Vergangenen  lebt  bas  lüdjtige, 

Verewigt  ftd)  in  fdiöner  lat. 

Unb  fo  gewinnt  fid)  baö  ßebenbige 
Dnrd)  golg’  auf  golge  neue  traft; 

Denn  bie  ©efinnung,  bie  beftänbige, 

©ie  madjt  allein  ben  Vfenfcfyen  bauerljaft. 

©o  löft  fidf  jene  grojie  grage 
Vad)  unferm  gweiten  Vaterlanb. 

Denn  ba£  Veftänbige  bcr  irb’fdjen  läge 
Verbürgt  une  ewigen  Veftanb.* 

The  funeral  oration  was  delivered  by  Röhr,  the  Superin- 
tendent general  and  chief  chaplain  in  ordinary  to  the  Grand 
Duke.  According  to  our  feeling  it  was  not  entirely  equal 
to  the  significance  of  the  hour.  Chancellor  von  Müller,  in 
words  of  gratitude,  gave  the  sarcophagus  into  the  keeping  of 
the  Lord  Marshai.  A short  time  afterward  the  tomb  was 
closed  over  all  that  was  mortal  of  Goethe. 

What  he  himself  had  said,  a few  days  before  his  death, 
of  the  setting  sun,  “Great,  even  in  its  departure,”  may  be 

* Bid  all  too  fleeting  things  adieu. 

They  know  no  counsel  for  your  needs; 

The  past  eterne  lives,  stanch  and  true, 

Immortalised  in  noble  deeds. 

And  thus  the  living  gathers  force 

Through  age  on  age  in  endless  chain; 

The  heart  ne’er  swerving  from  its  course 
Alone  makes  man  for  aye  remain. 

And  so  that  weighty  question  ’s  solved 
Of  what  our  future  state  shall  be; 

For  lasting  things,  on  earth  evolved, 

Assure  our  souls  eternity. 


Xast  2)as$ 


367 


hung  as  a fitting  motto  over  our  picture  of  the  whole  last 
period  of  his  earthly  life,  including  the  final  hour  and  the 
end.  Great  and  noble  as  he  had  been  in  life,  he  continued 
to  be  in  death. 

At  the  moment  of  his  death  his  country  was  far  from 
realising  the  full  significance  of  the  loss.  It  was  not  possible 
for  the  people  to  measure  what  they  had  once  possessed 
in  him,  but  now  possessed  no  more.  Even  we  of  to-day 
have  had  to  learn  this  for  ourselves,  have  had  to  conquer 
and  drive  away  all  sorts  of  prejudices  which  existed  at 
that  time.  That  Goethe  was  immoral  and  egoistic,  that 
he  was  un-German  and  ungodly, — such  reproaches,  showing 
utter  ignorance  of  his  nature  and  character,  were  heard 
even  during  his  lifetime,  but  oftener  immediately  after  his 
death.  We  know  to-day  how  unjust  and  unfounded  these 
accusations  were.  On  this  point  we  need  waste  no  further 
words. 

Nor  do  we  need  to  sum  up  in  a few  sentences  what  Goethe 
was  and  what  he  achieved.  This  whole  book  is  an  endeavour 
to  make  that  clear.  But  we  may  at  least,  in  closing,  em- 
phasise  the  fact  that,  as  a poet,  an  artist,  and  a man,  he  was 
to  Germany  a possession  of  inestimable  value,  because  he 
created  and  assured  for  his  people  their  position  of  spiritual 
power  in  the  nineteenth  Century.  The  poet  Goethe  and  the 
philosopher  Goethe  may  divide  between  them  whatever  of 
soul-stirring  tragedy  and  wealth  of  thought  is  contained  in 
Faust;  his  lyric  poetry  remains  as  young,  fresh,  and  beautiful, 
as  on  the  day  when  it  was  written,  and  opens  our  eyes  to 
a world  of  beauty ; through  Prometheus,  Iphigenie,  and  Her- 
mann und  Dorothea,  he  made  accessible  to  us  classical  an- 
tiquity;  in  West-östlicher  Divan  he  blended  two  worlds  into 
one,  in  the  universalistic  Spirit  of  Herder;  he  leads  us  back  to 
Spinoza,  like  whom  he  was  full  of  religion;  and  leads  us 
forward  to  Darwin,  and,  in  the  realmsof  nature  and  history, 
opens  for  us  a view  of  the  whole  as  well  as  of  the  origin  and 
development  of  the  parts.  Above  all  this  hovers  the  idea  of 
pure  humanity,  like  a sun,  which  we  must  not  seek  pedantic- 
ally  in  the  form  of  a systematic  philosophy  of  the  world, 


368 


£be  %itc  of  ßoetbe 


but  in  its  reflected  colour  splendour,  which  shines  out  of  all 
his  poetical  works,  and,  what  is  more,  out  of  his  whole 
personality. 

Thus  he,  who  was  not  devoted  to  politics,  extends  his 
hand  for  common  activity  to  the  other  great  man  of  the 
nation  in  the  nineteenth  Century.  Without  Goethe,  no 
Bismarck;  without  Goethe  no  German  Empire.  In  order 
that  the  Germans  might  become  politically  one  nation,  they 
must  first  become  spiritually  one  nation  and  feel  themselves 
one  nation,  with  a common  language,  a common  education, 
and,  we  should  like  to  add,  a common  faith.  Such  a united 
people  has  been  created  by  its  poets  and  thinkers,  above  all 
by  Goethe,  the  most  perfect  representative  of  German  art 
and  the  German  nature  as  a whole.  For  the  faith  of  his 
people  he  has  left  the  legacy  of  recognising  everywhere  a 
divine  power,  and  of  showing  just  and  pious  reverence  for 
everything  human,  wherever  it  be  found;  for  man  belongs 
also  to  God. 

Therefore  Goethe’s  “pure  humanity ” is  the  goal  toward 
which  all  Germans  must  strive.  In  this  sense  he  was  the 
first  stadtholder  in  the  realm  of  the  German  spirit,  the 
first  imperial  chancellor  in  spiritually  united  Germany,  as 
through  him  Weimar  became  the  first  spiritual  Capital  of  the 
Empire. 

But  Goethe  belongs  not  alone  to  his  people;  he  belongs 
to  the  whole  world . By  the  side  of  Homer  and  Shakespeare 
he  is  the  only  world  poet  who  speaks  his  own  peculiar 
national  language  and  yet  to  all  nations  and,  we  may  now 
add,  to  all  times  is  comprehensible. 

What  distinguishes  him  above  all  others,  even  the  great  - 
est  representatives,  of  his  nation  is  the  universal  character  of 
his  writings  and  activities,  the  complete  harmony  of  his 
own  human  nature,  which  does  not  represent  merely  one 
side  of  our  being,  even  though  it  be  the  deepest,  as  was  the 
case  with  Luther,  or  the  most  comprehensive,  with  Bis- 
marck, but  reveals  the  human  possibilities  in  a degree  of 
richness,  fulness,  and  completeness  that  was  never  known 
before  and  has  not  existed  since.  He  was  really  the  “ most 


Xast  2>a£0 


36  9 


human  of  men,”  and  he  considered  that  he  should  have 
attained  the  highest  title  of  fame  if  it  should  some  day  be 
said  of  him:  “For  I too  have  been  a human  being.”  On 
this  he  based  his  claim  that  the  doors  of  Paradise  should  be 
opened  for  him.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  he  Stands  so  near 
us  all,  and  yet  so  high  above  us.  He  was  what  we  all  are, 
and  yet  what  we  all  have  still  to  become;  taking  all  in  all, 
he  was  a human  being. 

Goethe  lives  on  among  us;  immortal,  as  everything  great 
is  immortal;  a living  influence  and  creating  life;  ever  his 
own  individual  seif  and  ever  more  and  more  our  possession, 
the  more  we  desire  and  learn  to  make  him  ours. 

©d)on  Iärtgft  oerbreitet  fid)’§  in  ganje  @cf)aren, 

(Sigenfte,  roa$  itjm  allein  gehört. 

(Sr  glanzt  un3  nor,  toie  ein  dornet  entfcf)tt)inben&, 

Unenblicf)  2id)t  mit  feinem  ßid)t  Derbinbenb ! * 

* Long  since  hath  gone  to  yearning  souls  unnumbered 
That  treasure  most  peculiarly  his  own. 

Departing,  comet-like,  our  path  he  lighteth 
And  countless  shining  orbs  with  his  uniteth. 

VOL.  — III.  24 


NOTES 


371 


NOTES 

ABBREVIATIONS 

W. — The  Weimar  edition  of  Goethe’s  Werke,  erste  Abteilung,  poetical, 
biographical,  and  esthetical  writings. 

NS. — do.,  zweite  Abteilung,  Naturwissenschaftliche  Schriften. 

Tb. — do.,  dritte  Abteilung,  Tagebücher. 

Br. — do.,  vierte  Abteilung,  Briefe. 

H. — The  Hempel  edition  of  Goethe’s  Werke. 

DW .—Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  Weimar  edition. 

G J. — Goethejahrbuch. 

SGG. — Schriften  der  Goethe-Gesellschaft. 

1.  That  this  was  a mere  excuse  is  proved  by  his  letter  to  the  Duke, 
in  which  he  gives  as  the  reason  for  his  haste  the  urgency  of  the  memorial 
which  he  had  promised  Herr  vom  Stein. 

2.  Here  is  one  of  many  instances:  In  July,  1819,  Goethe  wrote 

to  Willemer:  “ What  bliss  it  would  be  for  me  to  see  once  more  on  the 

charming,  serene  Main  the  dear  friends  whom  I truly  love,  and  to  pledge 
anew  the  rest  of  life.”  It  may  be  noted  in  this  connection  that  during 
the  first  years  after  their  Separation  Goethe  directed  his  letters,  with 
very  few  exceptions,  to  both  husband  and  wife,  or  to  Willemer  alone, 
whereas,  on  the  other  side,  Marianne  was  the  one  who  carried  on  the 
correspondence. 

3.  In  the  same  sense  Goethe  defines  lyric  poetry  as  that  poetry  which 
shows  enthusiastic  excitement.  The  connection  in  which  he  gives  this 
definition  is  worthy  of  note.  He  is  seeking  to  distinguish  between  the 
three  kinds  of  poetry.  While  in  the  case  of  dramatic  and  epic  poetry 
he  applies  the  objective  test,  asking  whether  an  event  is  told  as  past  or 
takes  place  before  our  eyes  in  the  present,  in  the  case  of  lyric  poetry  he 
uses  the  subjective  test  of  the  mental  state  of  the  poet.  Hence  he  dis- 
covers  lyric  poetry  everywhere  where  the  mental  state  of  the  poet  is 
apparent. 

4.  Goethe  avoided  abnormal  subjects  in  his  poetry,  because  they  were 
too  far  removed  from  the  truth,  toward  which  his  soul  was  constantly 
striving  (W.,  xxviii.,  144)- 

5.  The  poems  of  the  Leipziger  Liederbuch  which  were  given  a place 
among  Goethe’s  collected  writings,  some  of  them  with  new  titles  and 
with  slight  alterations,  are  eleven  in  number,  namely:  Die  schöne 
Nacht,  Glück  und  Traum,  Lebendiges  Andenken,  Glück  der  Entfernung, 

373 


374 


Zhe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


An  Luna,  Brautnacht,  Schadenfreude,  Unschuld,  Scheintod,  Am  Flusse, 
and  Die  Freuden.  Although  the  poet  inserted  them  among  the  pro- 
ducts  of  later  periods,  when  he  prepared  his  collected  poems  for  publica- 
tion,  it  is  nevertheless  an  easy  matter  to  recognise  them  as  mementos 
of  those  Leipsic  years. 

6.  Cf.  Eckermann,  Gespräche  mit  Goethe,  Nov.  io,  1823.  The  Paria, 
however,  must  have  been  in  existence,  at  least  in  part,  as  early  as  1811 
(cf.  Br.,  xxii.,  44). 

7.  Arias  belonging  to  the  operetta  are  mentioned  in  Goethe’s  diary 
as  early  as  the  5th  of  August,  1781.  Die  Fischerin  was  performed  on  the 
28th  of  July,  1782.  Concerning  the  source  of  Erlkönig  cf.  G J .,  xxi.,  263. 

8.  The  very  probable  supposition  that  Der  untreue  Knabe  was  com- 
posed  as  early  as  1771  finds  support  in  the  fact  that,  like  Heidenröslein. 
it  is  a remodelled  Version  of  a folk-song,  such  as  Goethe  collected  for 
Herder  in  Alsatia,  and  that  in  the  Summer  of  1774  it  is  mentioned  as 
having  been  in  existence  for  some  time;  “it  had  only  rarely  crossed  his 
lips.” 

9.  Goethe’s  Poems  set  to  music.  Poems  by  Goethe  were  very 
early  set  to  music.  When  the  lyric  attempts  of  the  young  man  of  twenty, 
now  known  as  the  Leipziger  Liederbuch,  were  first  published  in  1769, 
they  appeared  set  to  music  by  Bernhard  Theodor  Breitkopf  (cf.  vol.  i., 
p.  86.  In  this  Breitkopf  publication  Goethe’s  name  is  not  mentioned 
either  on  the  title  page  or  in  connection  with  the  songs),  and  two  months 
later  Georg  Simon  Löhlein’s  melody  to  the  Neujahrslied  was  printed. 
After  that  there  were  rather  longer  intervals  during  which  there  were 
no  settings,  which  finds  its  explanation  in  the  fact  that  Goethe  usually 
published  his  songs  separately  in  various  periodicals.  Thus  from  1770 
to  1774  there  are  no  musical  compositions  to  his  words,  from  1775  to  the 
end  of  the  eighties  comparatively  few,  among  others  those  of  the  not 
very  important  composers  Andre,  Kayser,  von  Seckendorff,  and  J.  F. 
Reichardt,  to  whom  the  poet  showed  the  honour  of  sending  them  his 
songs  to  be  set  to  music  before  they  were  printed.  Matters  took  an 
entirely  different  turn  when  the  larger  collections  of  his  poems  appeared 
in  1789,  1800,  and  1806.  From  that  time  on  there  were  few  musicians 
who  did  not  recognise  the  value  of  these  treasures,  and  by  masters  as  well 
as  by  amateurs  Goethe’s  admonition,  “Never  read  them,  always  sing 
them,”  has  been  well  heeded.  Apart  from  Shakespeare  no  poet  of  any 
country  has  so  generally  and  profoundly  inspired  composers  as  Goethe, 
and  through  the  compositions  of  Mozart  and  Beethoven,  Reichardt  and 
Zelter,  Schubert,  Schumann  and  Mendelssohn,  Loewe,  Robert  Franz, 
and  Brahms,  they  have  gained  a wide-spread  popularity,  which,  without 
the  aid  of  this  music,  they  would  certainly  never  have  achieved  in  equal 
measure.  There  are  some  great  masters,  to  be  sure,  whom  we  are  sur- 
prised  not  to  find  in  the  list  of  composers.  Gluck  could  no  longer  be 
moved  by  Goethe’s  poems  to  any  new  creation,  although  in  the  evening  of 
his  life  he  composedthe  music*  to  seven  of  the  most  beautiful  of  Klopstock’s 

* Betonte,  the  Word  which  the  writer  o£  the  above  note  uses.  quoting  Goethe,  who 
employed  it  in  speaking  o£  Gluck’s  Iphigenie,  conveys  the  double  meaning  of  “ provide 
with  tones  ” and  “ emphasise." — C. 


Bot  es 


375 


ödes.  Philipp  Emanuel  Bach  also  allowed  Goethe’s  lyrics  to  escape  him, 
and  J.  A.  P.  Schulz,  the  author  of  Lieder  im  Volkston,  confined  himself  to 
the  music  to  Gotz,  of  which  he  published  only  one  piece,  and  that  one  of 
little  importance.  Nobody  would  suspect  from  Joseph  Haydn’s  songs 
that  he  had  for  six  decades  the  good  fortune  to  be  Goethe’s  Contemporary; 
and  it  is  a very  stränge  thing  that  Karl  Maria  von  Weber,  who  was  a man 
of  literary  culture,  in  the  choice  of  texts  for  his  musical  compositions, 
should  have  neglected  completely  the  classic  German  writers  for  Müchler. 
Gubitz,  Castelli,  and  others  of  their  kind.  It  was  a happy  decree  of  fate 
that  at  least  one  of  Goethe’s  poems  was  brought  to  Mozart’s  notice, 
Das  Veilchen,  which  under  his  hand  became  one  of  the  fairest  fiowers 
of  lyric-dramatic  music.  The  first  great  musician  to  come  under  Goethe’s 
spell  and  to  penetrate  his  works  deeply  was  Beethoven.  In  addition  to  his 
music  to  Egmont,  he  composed,  or  at  least  sketched,  the  music  to  three 
selections  from  Faust,  one  each  from  Claudine  and  Das  J ahrmarktsfest  zu 
Plundersweilern,  and  nineteen  songs.  Among  these  compositions  are 
such  masterpieces  as  Freudvoll  und  leidvoll.  Kennst  du  das  Land,  Wie 
herrlich  leuchtet  mir  die  Natur,  and  Wonne  der  Wehmut.  Schubert  entered 
more  fully  than  even  Beethoven  into  the  spirit  of  Goethe,  “to  whose 
glorious  poems  he  virtually  owed  the  education  which  made  of  him  the 
German  singer,”  as  Schubert’s  most  intimate  friend  Spaun  said  in  1817, 
in  a letter  directed  to  Goethe.  Schubert  wrote  not  less  than  eighty 
compositions  to  Goethe’s  texts.  We  need  mention  here  only  Gretchen 
am  Spinnrad  and  Schäfers  Klagelied  (composed  at  the  age  of  seventeen), 
Erlkönig,  Nähe  des  Geliebten,  Wandrers  Nachtlied,  Rastlose  Liebe,  Jägers 
Abendlied,  An  den  Mond,  Der  Fischer,  Der  König  in  Thule  (all  of  these, 
together  with  thirty-seven  other  Goethian  texts,  composed  at  the  age  of 
eighteen),  and,  further,  Geheimes,  and  the  songs  of  the  Harpist,  Mignon, 
Suleika,  etc.  It  will  always  remain  a source  of  the  highest  astonishment 
that  the  young  master  should  have  possessed  the  commanding  genius  to 
force  into  the  mould  of  musical  composition  such  powerful  blocks  of 
refractory  material  as  the  poems,  Grenzen  der  Menschheit,  Prometheus, 
Gesang  der  Geister  über  den  Wassern,  and  An  Schwager  Kronos.  Robert 
Schumann  was  not  quite  so  felicitous  in  his  twenty-six  compositions, 
though  it  must  be  said  that  his  scenes  from  Faust  contain  by  far  the  most 
beautiful  music  that  has  yet  been  written  to  the  Second  Part  of  the 
drama.  Of  Mendelssohn’s  fourteen  works  Die  erste  Walpurgisnacht 
deserves  special  praise,  as  it  is  one  of  the  best  oratorio  compositions  of  the 
nineteenth  Century;  further,  the  overture  Meeresstille  und  glückliche  Fahrt, 
the  sonnet  Die  Liebende  schreibt,  and  the  quartettes  Auf  dem  See,  Früh- 
zeitiger Frühling,  and  Die  Nachtigal,  sie  war  entfernt.  Spohr’s  eleven 
songs  are  almost  all  insignificant,  and  even  Karl  Loewe,  who  wrote  com- 
positions to  forty-three  of  Goethe’s  poems,  failed  in  the  most  of  them 
to  rise  to  the  height  of  his  best  creations;  still  there  are  some  master- 
pieces among  them,  such  as  Erlkönig,  Der  getreue  Eckart,  and  Hochzeitlied . 
Robert  Franz’s  seven  and  Franz  Liszt’s  nine  songs  are  unfortunately 
very  uneven,  whereas  Johannes  Brahms,  in  his  fourteen  works,  is  at  his 
very  best.  Deserving  of  special  mention  are  the  glorious  fragment 
Harzreise  im  Winter,  Der  Gesang  der  Parzen,  Wechsellied  zum  T anze,  the 


3 76 


Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbc 


verses  from  Jery  und  Bätely,  and  Alexis  und  Dora.  As  Faust  has  already 
been  referred  to  we  may  mention  further  the  compositions  of  Prince 
Radziwill,  Karl  Eberwein,  C.  G.  Reissiger,  Julius  Rietz,  Eduard  Lassen, 
P.  J.  von  Lindpaintner,  L.  Schlösser,  H.  H.  Pierson,  H.  Litolff,  H.  Zöllner, 
and  A.  Bungert;  further,  Hector  Berlioz’s  dramatic  legend  La  Damnation 
de  Faust  (un-Goethian,  but  full  of  great  musical  beauties,  and  the  char- 
acter  of  Mephisto  cleverly  conceived),  Gounod’s  melodious,  extraordinarily 
populär  Opera  Faust,  Liszt’s  Faust-Symphonie,  Rubinstein’s  Faust,  ein 
musikalisches  Charakterbild  jür  Orchester,  Arrigo  Boito’s  opera  Mefistofele, 
and  finally  Richard  Wagner’s  Sieben  Kompositionen  zu  Goethes  Faust 
(manuscript  in  Wahnfried)  and  his  very  Superior  work  Eine  Faustouvertüre. 

How  strong  an  influence  Goethe  has  exerted  upon  other  composers 
may  be  seen  from  the  following  statistics,  which,  be  it  remembered,  take 
into  account  only  compositions  to  the  poems,  and  not  the  music  to  his 
numerous  operettas,  dramas,  etc.  The  numbers  of  printed  compositions 
to  his  songs  are  as  follows:  Die  schöne  Nacht,  9;  Tischlied,  9;  Es  war  ein 

fauler  Schäfer,  10;  Der  Musensohn,  12;  Der  Junggesell  und  der  Mühlbach, 
12;  Der  Rattenfänger,  12;  Ergo  Bibamus,  13;  An  die  Erwählte,  13;  Heiss 
mich  nicht  reden,  heiss  mich  schweigen,  14;  Es  war  eine  Ratt’  im  Kellernest, 
15;  Auf  dem  See,  16;  Mit  einem  gemalten  Band,  16;  Geistesgruss,  16;  So 
lasst  mich  scheinen,  16;  An  die  Türen  will  ich  schleichen,  16;  Wer  sich  der 
Einsamkeit  ergibt,  17;  Nachgefühl,  17;  Die  Bekehrte,  17;  Es  war  einmal 
ein  König,  18;  Sehnsucht,  18;  Ach  neige,  du  Schmerzensreiche , 19;  Vanitas, 
19;  März,  20  (?);  Der  Sänger,  21;  Trost  in  Tränen,  22;  Neue  Liebe,  rieues 
Leben,  23;  An  Mignon,  23;  Die  Spröde,  26;  Freudvoll  und  leidvoll,  27; 
Meeresstille  und  glückliche  Fahrt,  30;  Wonne  der  Wehmut,  30;  Frühzeitiger 
Frühling,  30 'Schäfers  Klagelied,  30;  Ihr  verblühet,  süsse  Rosen,  30;  Bundes- 
lied, 31;  Wer  nie  sein  Brot  mit  Tränen  ass,  32 ; An  die  Entfernte,  32;  Das 
Veilchen,  35;  Blumengruss,  37;  Schweizerlied,  38;  Jägers  Abendlied,  40; 
Meine  Ruh  ist  hin,  43;  Nachtgesang,  43;  An  den  Mond,  45;  Erster  Verlust, 
48;  Erlkönig,  48:  Mailied  ( Zwischen  Weizen  und  Korn),  30;  Mailied  (Wie 
herrlich  leuchtet  mir  die  Natur),  54;  Heidenröslein,  56;  Der  Fischer,  58; 
Der  Königin  Thule,  58;  N ur  wer  die  Sehnsucht  kennt,  64;  Rastlose  Liebe,  66; 
Mignon  (Kennst  du  das  Land),  75  ; Gefunden,  79;  Nähe  des  Geliebten,  85; 
Wandrers  Nachtlied  (Uber  allen  Gipfeln),  107 ; Wandrers  Nachtlied  (Der  du 
von  dem  Himmel  bist),  117. 

The  very  large  number  of  Goethe’s  poems  that  have  been  set  to  music 
less  than  nine  times  have  not  been  considered  in  the  above  Hst. 

What  an  influence  the  poet  has  been  exerting  on  musicians  in  recent 
years  is  apparent  from  the  fact  that  Richard  Strauss  has  set  to  music 
Wandrers  Sturmlied  and  Pilgers  Morgenlied,  while  Hugo  Wolf  has  written 
compositions  to  no  less  than  fifty-three  of  Goethe’s  longer  and  shorter 
poems. — M.  F. 

10.  “What  is  the  general?  The  individual  case.”  NS.,  xi.,  127; 
H.,  xix.,  195  (Sprüche  in  Prosa,  No.  899). 

11.  See  the  letter  from  Sömmering  to  Merck  of  the  8th  of  October, 
1782,  in  Briefe  an  Merck,  herausg.  von  Wagner,  p.  354  /. 

12.  Goethe’s  various  scientific  writings  appeared  in  the  years  1817  to 
1824  in  a periodical  which  he  published  under  the  title,  Zur  Naturwissen- 


IRotes 


377 


Schaft  überhaupt,  besonders  zur  Morphologie,  Erfahrung,  Betrachtung, 
Folgerung,  durch  Lebensereignisse  verbunden,  to  which  were  further  given 
two  separate  titles,  one  of  them,  Zur  Morphologie,  embracing  chiefly 
botanical  and  osteological  articles,  while  the  other,  Zur  Naturwissen- 
schaft überhaupt,  included  geological,  meteorological,  and  optical  con- 
tributions.  Each  group  fills  two  volumes. 

13.  Cf.  Zur  Morphologie  (NS.,  vi.,  207),  Einwirkung  der  neueren 
Philosophie  (NS.,  xi.,  49),  Campagne  in  Frankreich  (W.,  xxxiii.,  31). 

14.  Goethe’s  doctrine  of  vegetable  metamorphosis  has  been  misin- 
terpreted  by  some  to  mean  that  he  assumed  a transformation  of  full- 
grown  organs  into  other  organs;  others  questioned  the  admissibility 
of  the  conception  of  metamorphosis  unless  that  assumption  were  made. 
In  view  of  this  it  is  interesting  to  know  that  transformations  of  perfectly 
mature  organs  of  a plant  into  organs  of  an  entirely  different  structure 
and  function,  namely  from  petals  to  foliage  leaves,  really  occur.  Cf. 
Winkler,  Berichte  der  deutschen  botanischen  Gesellschaft  (1902),  xx.,  494-501. 

15.  Cf.  NS.,  vi.,  173  and  277.  It  is  not  without  interest  to  compare 
the  latter  of  these  two  passages  with  the  following  passage  from  Spinoza : 
“Nothing  occurs  in  nature  that  could  be  counted  against  her  as  a mis- 
take;  for  nature  is  always  the  same  and  everywhere  one,  and  her  force 
and  her  power  of  activity  are  the  same,  i.  e.,  the  rules  and  laws  of  nature, 
according  to  which  everything  takes  place  and  is  metamorphosed  out  of 
one  form  into  another,  are  always  and  everywhere  the  same,  and  hence 
there  must  be  one  and  the  same  way  of  understanding  the  nature 
of  things,  whatever  they  may  be,  namely,  by  means  of  general  rules 
and  laws  of  nature  ” (Ethica,  third  part,  p.  89  of  Berthold  Auerbach’s 
translation) . 

16.  The  term  Ur pflanze,  which  Goethe  used  a fewtimes,  has  been  the 

subject  of  a similar  controversy.  On  page  92  we  referred  to  the  fact  that 
“at  that  time,” — i.  e.,  shortly  before  the  Italian  journey,  and  also  while 
in  Italy — the  conception  of  metamorphosis  “hovered  before  his  mind 
under  the  sensual  form  of  a supersensual  Urpflanze.”  But  this  Statement 
is  hard  to  bring  into  complete  accord  with  utterances  of  that  period 
concerning  the  Urpflanze,  which  will  admit  of  no  other  Interpretation 
than  that  Goethe  understood  by  the  term  a concrete  formation.  This 
is  confirmed  by  a letter — written,  but  never  posted — to  Nees  von  Esen- 
beck,  which  was  published  in  Br.,  xxvii.,  No.  7486,  and  was  written  prob- 
ably  in  the  middle  of  August,  1816 : “In  the  diaries  of  my  Italian  journey 

you  will  observe,  not  without  a smile,  in  what  stränge  ways  I followed 
the  traces  of  vegetable  metamorphosis.  I was  at  that  time  seeking  the 
Urpflanze,  unconscious  that  I was  seeking  the  idea,  the  conception,  in 
accordance  with  which  we  could  develop  it  for  ourselves.”  I [Kalischer] 
find  herein  a confirmation  of  my  view  of  the  Urpflanze  set  forth  in  my 
contributions  to  the  Hempel  edition  of  Goethe’s  writings  (vol.  xxxiii.,  p. 
LXVI  ff.,),  of  which  I have  here  and  there  taken  the  liberty  to  make  free 
use.  According  to  what  I there  said,  and  the  above  passage  from  a letter 
verifies  my  Statement,  Goethe  originally  meant  by  the  Urpflanze  the 
ancestral  form  of  the  plant  world,  but  he  soon  saw  that  he  would  never 
realise  his  idea  of  being  able  to  discover  the  Urpflanze  “among  this 


37§ 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 


host”  of  forms  which  he  met  for  the  first  time  in  Italy,  as  he  said  in  a 
letter  from  Palermo  on  the  iyth  of  April,  1787 ; and  he  had  to  content  him- 
self  with  constructing  as  his  own  creature  the  Urpflanze,  which  he  had 
vainly  sought  in  nature  (Naples,  May  17,  1787).  The  question  of  the 
conception  of  the  Urpflanze,  which  had  evidently  undergone  a metamor- 
phosis  in  Goethe’s  chain  of  reasoning,  is  altogether  subordinate  to  the 
related  question  of  his  position  with  respect  to  the  general  doctrine  of 
descent,  which  must  be  decided  according  to  other  points  of  view. 

Goethe  used  just  once  the  term  Urtier:  “As  I had  formerly  sought 

the  Urpflanze  I now  longed  also  to  find  the  Urtier,  which  means  in  the 
end  the  conception,  the  idea  of  animal  ” (NS.,  vi.,  20).  The  utter- 
ance  does  not  contradict  in  any  sense  the  view  here  presented.  It  in  no 
wise  precludes  the  assumption  of  common,  real  ancestral  forms  out  of 
which  the  different  species  have  developed.  Darwin  himself,  in  his 
Origin  of  Species,  speaks  of  the  “archetype  of  all  mammals,”  and  of  the 
“general  plan  ” upon  which  they  are constructed. 

17.  NS.,  x.,  52  /.  Goethe  often  expressed  himself  conceming  the 
ice  age.  Cf.  Geologische  Probleme  und  Versuch  ihrer  Auflösung  (NS., 
ix.,  253  ff.):  Herrn  von  Hoffs  geologisches  Werk  (NS.,  ix.,  280  ff.):  NS.,  x., 
pp.  93,  95,  and  267;  Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre,  book  ii.,  Chapter  IX 
(W.,  xxv., 1 28). 

18.  Goethe  finds  antagonistic  colours  everywhere  in  nature,  even 

in  the  plant  world,  and  a characteristic  feature  which  Supports  our  con- 
ception of  his  theory  is  the  fact  that,  in  speaking  of  plant  colours,  he 
refers  to  the  subjective  demand  of  the  complementary  colours.  For 
example,  in  an  essay  on  this  subject,  recently  published  for  the  first  time 
in  NS.,  v.,2  p.  160,  we  read:  “The  antagonistic  relation  of  red  and  green 

is  most  remarkable  in  monströus  tulips.  One  part  of  the  strangely 
indented  leaf,  which  is  even  provided  with  spores,  remains  longest  green, 
and  these  parts  then  tum  immediately  to  the  most  beautiful,  most  brilliant 
red,  a phenomenon  like  that  to  be  observed  in  all  Chemical  conversions, 
and  also  like  that  which  takes  place  in  the  subjective  demand  of  the  eye. 
So  intimately  are  the  workings  of  nature  connected.” 

In  this  connection  we  may  refer  also  to  the  discovery  which  Goethe 
recorded  in  §678,  that  phosphorescence  is  produced  only  by  blue  and 
violet  light,  or,  as  we  say,  only  by  the  refrangible  part  of  the  spectrum. 
He  made  this  discovery  as  early  as  1792,  as  is  shown  by  his  letter  of  July 
2d  to  Sömmering.  Several  written  references  to  it  have  been  preserved, 
particularly  the  outline  of  a lecture  on  the  subject,  recently  published  for 
the  first  time  in  NS.,  v.,  * p.  165  ff. 

19.  Cf.  Diderots  Versuch  über  die  Malerei  (W.,  xlv.,  293/.).  Sprüche 

■tn  Prosa,  No.  719,  should  also  be  considered  in  this  connection:  “The 

first  man  to  develop  the  harmony  of  colours  out  of  the  systole  and  diastole, 
for  which  the  retina  is  formed,  or,  to  speak  with  Plato,  out  of  this  syn- 
crisis  and  diacrisis,  will  be  the  discoverer  of  the  principles  of  colouring.” 
Goethe  himself  is  this  discoverer. 

20.  The  chief  work  on  romanticism,  which  contains  also  an  exhaustive 
treatment  of  Goethe’s  relations  to  the  older  generation  of  the  school,  is 
Die  romantische  Schule,  ein  Beitrag  zur  Geschichte  des  deutschen  Geistes,  by 


IRotcs 


3 79 


R.  Haym,  published  in  1870.  [A  new  edition  has  very  recently  been 
issued. — C.]  Beside  this  there  is  the  more  recent  work,  Goethe  und  die 
Romantik:  Briefe  mit  Erläuterungen  ( SGG .,  xiii.,  and  xiv.),  edited  by 
Karl  Schüddekopf  and  Oskar  Walzel,  and  published  in  1898  and  1899. 
In  the  two  introductions  to  this  valuable  collection  the  personal  element 
is  naturally  brought  into  the  foreground,  but  the  objective  agreements 
and  differences  are  also  given  consideration.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
state  that  this  Life  of  Goethe  does  not  accept  the  summing  up  Statement 
of  the  editors,  “Instead  of  rejoicing  in  the  harmony  and  its  fruitful 
results,  evidences  of  discord  and  estrangement  are  shoved  into  the  fore- 
ground, and  the  far  richer  and  more  pleasing  proofs  of  unanimity  are 
rejected  or  forgotten.”  Goethe’s  position  with  reference  to  romanticism 
is  defined,  rather,  in  the  words  with  which  Luther  parted  from  Zwingli: 
“We  have  a different  spirit.”  It  is  the  spirit  of  wholesomeness,  as 
Goethe  so  classically  formulated  it.  In  comparison  with  it  the  romantic 
is  really  “the  unwholesome  ” (Eckermann,  Gespräche,  April  2,  1829.) — Z. 

21.  That  Goethe  did  not  hand  in  a formal  resignation  is  proved  by 
the  Grand  Duke’s  expression,  “utterances,”  and  by  Goethe’s  “antici- 
pated.”  [Cf.  Briefwechsel  des  Grossherzogs  Karl  August  mit  Goethe,  ii., 
105  f. — C.]  The  real  clash  came  on  the  2oth  of  March  {Cf.  Dembowsky, 
Mitteilungen  über  Goethe  und  seinen  Freundeskreis,  in  Wiss.  Beil.  z.  Pro- 
gramm des  Kgl.  Gymnasiums  zu  Lyck,  1888-1889,  P-  &)•  The  perform- 
ance  took  place  on  the  i2th  of  April.  Goethe’s  letter  of  March  3 ist  to 
Frau  von  Stein  shows  that  he  still  hoped  for  an  agreement. 

22.  According  to  a Statement  made  by  Ulrike  in  her  old  age  to 
Herr  von  Loeper,  her  answer  had  been : if  her  mother  desired  it.  Cf.  G J ., 
viii.,  182. 

23.  Nobody  dared  speak  with  Goethe  except  about  the  thing  which 
concerned  him  personally,  tili  Goethe  of  his  own  accord  passed  to  other 
themes.  When  any  one  desired  to  turn  him  aside  by  means  of  inoppor- 
tune or  awkward  questions  he  would  Surround  himself  with  a mysterious 
air  (“  ou  mystifiait  impitoyablement  le  malheureux  questionneur  ” — 
Soret,  p.  46). 

24.  Walther,  Baron  von  Goethe,  devoted  himself  to  music  and  pub- 
lished several  vocal  compositions.  He  lived  unmarried  as  a chamberlain 
in  Weimar  and  died  in  Leipsic,  in  1885,  after  having  made  a will  bequeath- 
ing  his  grandfather’s  posthumous  papers  to  the  care  of  the  Grand  Duchess 
Sophie  of  Saxony,  who,  as  a result,  founded  the  Goethe  and  Schiller 
Archives  in  Weimar,  which  were  opened  in  1896.  With  his  death  the 
Goethe  family  became  extinct. 

25.  Wolfgang  was  a doctor  juris  and  was  known  as  a philosopher 
and  a writer.  He  died  in  1883  as  a Prussian  councillor  of  legation  and  a 
Weimar  chamberlain. 

26.  “Madame  de  Goethe  avait  fini  par  renoncer  presqu’  entierement 
ä la  societe,  pour  consacrer  toutes  ses  soirees  k son  beau-pere  et  pour 
l’accompagner  dans  ses  promenades”  (Soret,  p.  47).  He  praises  very 
highly  her  devotion  in  times  of  illness,  as  well  as  her  clever  and  original 
conversation. 

27.  On  the  4th  of  July,  1824,  Müller  asserted  that  Goethe’s  ability 


38° 


£be  Xifc  of  (Boetbe 


and  desire  to  communicate  his  thoughts  and  feelings  had  been  increased 
tenfold.  Cf.  Dembowsky,  l.  c.,  p.  25. 

28.  Duke  Bernhard  found  a copy  of  Faust  in  the  possession  of  an 
American  Indian  in  North  Carolina  (Goethe  to  Zelter,  March  28,  1829).  A ■ ‘ 

29.  Frau  von  Stein’s  last  utterance  conceming  Goethe  is  interesting 
in  this  connection.  Toward  the  end  of  the  year  1829  she  had  made 
for  Comelia’s  grandson,  Alfred  Nicolovius,  a copy  of  the  picture  of  young 
Goethe  which  hung  in  her  house,  referring  to  Goethe  as  “your  dear  grand- 
uncle,  whom  we  so  highly  esteem  ” ; and  she  said  she  was  glad  to  have 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  grandnephew  of  her  old  friend  Goethe 
“before  the  salto  mortale  confronted  her.” 

30.  There  is  a remarkable  similarity  between  this  fact  and  an  inci- 
dent  in  the  life  of  Karl  von  Raumer.  In  his  Geschichte  der  Pädagogik,  ii., 

340,  Raumer  says.  speaking  of  himself:  “The  sad  time  of  1806  had 

affected  me  violently,  had  made  me  unsociable  and  entirely  determined 
to  devote  myself  to  the  most  solitary  study  of  mountains.” 

31.  In  the  first  edition  the  two  stories  stood  at  the  end  of  the  first 
volume,  that  is,  in  the  middle  of  the  work.  They  were  intended  to  create 
a desire  for  the  second  volume  [which  was  never  published  in  that  edition 
— C.].  When  the  sociological  element  and  the  Makarie  episode  were 
inserted  the  stories  were  placed  near  the  beginning  of  the  work. 

32.  For  the  beginning  it  was  indeed  somewhat  socialistic,  as  the 
ground  was  divided  up,  etc.  But  the  Germanic  individualism  is  proved 
by  the  dislike  of  the  Capital  city  and  by  the  fact  that  equality  is  demanded 
only  in  matters  of  chief  importance  ( W . xxv.p  213,  22).  Harnack’s 
remark  that,  on  the  basis  of  the  stanzas  at  the  close  of  the  twelfth  chapter 
of  the  third  book,  he  considers  it  a strictly  socialistic  state,  is  due  to  mis- 
interpretation.  The  state  referred  to  there  is  an  old  one.  The  correct 
interpretation  is : It  is  through  you  that  we  shall  obtain  wives. 

33.  Even  the  leadership  of  the  “Bond”  is  intrusted  to  a group  of 
colleagues : 

Du  verteilest  Kraft  und  Bürde 
Und  erwägst  es  ganz  genau, 

Gibst  dem  Alter  Ruh  und  Würde, 

Jünglingen  Geschäft  und  Frau. 

34.  There  seems  to  be  a little  contradiction  between  W.,  xxv.,>  213, 

10  and  214,  15.  The  first  passage  says  of  the  right  of  the  police  to  ad- 
monish,  scold,  and  punish,  that  when  they  find  it  necessary  they  call 
together  a jury  of  a size  befitting  the  case.  The  second  says  that  punish- 
ment  can  be  dealt  out  only  by  a number  of  men  called  together. 

35.  The  verb  “ sich  entwickeln”  ( W ..  xxiv.,  244,  15)  must  be  taken 
as  a perfect,  as  though  it  were  “ sich  entwickelt  haben” ; otherwise  it  makes 
no  sense.  If  we  read,  on  the  other  hand,  that  nobody  brings  reverence 
with  him  into  the  world  (TU.,  xxiv.,  240,  2),  this  can  be  interpreted  only 
to  mean  reverence  as  a power  which  is  easily  developed,  or  may  even 
develop  of  itself.  The  germ  of  it  must  be  present,  otherwise  it  could  not 
be  developed  by  the  religions  of  reverence.  Goethe  offen  said : “ What  is 
not  in  man  will  never  come  out  of  him.”  This  harmonises  with  his  state- 


1Rote0 


381 


ment  in  another  place  (H.,  xxix.,  721),  that  he  is  forced  to  recognise  in. 
man  an  inborn  inclination  to  reverence;  likewise  with  his  indorsement  of 
the  motto,  “Ilya  une  fibre  adorative  dans  le  coeur  humain”  (H.,  xxix., 
312);  and  with  the  fact  that  he  makes  a distinction  between  “the  specially 
favoured  ones”  ( W .,  xxiv.,  242,  14)  and  the  rest  only  in  so  far  as  with 
the  former  reverence  develops  of  itself.  Cf.  also  Trilogie  der  Leiden- 
schaft, lines  79  /. 

36.  He  may  even  have  muttered  to  himself  lines  86  ff.  of  the  Urfaust, 
which,  it  has  been  asserted,  were  based  on  Herder’s  Älteste  Urkunde  des 
Menschengeschlechts.  Herder  undoubtedly  called  out  to  him  more  than 
once  lines  90-94. 

37.  Urfaust  is  the  title  commonly  given  to  the  oldest  Version  of  the 
Faust  fragment,  that  in  which  Goethe  brought  the  play  with  him  to 
Weimar  in  November,  1775,  and  in  which  it  has  been  preserved  in  a copy 
made  by  a lady  at  the  Court  of  Weimar,  Fräulein  Luise  von  Göchhausen. 
This  manuscript,  important  alike  for  the  history  and  the  understanding  of 
Faust , was  found  in  1887,  in  Dresden,  at  the  residence  of  the  Fräulein’s 
grand-nephew,  Major  von  Göchhausen.  The  discovery  was  made  by 
Erich  Schmidt,  who  published  it  that  same  year  under  the  title  Goethes 
Faust  in  ursprünglicher  Gestalt  nach  der  Göchhausenschen  Abschrift. 

The  same  Scholar  gives  a detailed  account  of  the  manuscripts  and 
first  editions  of  Faust  in  the  great  Weimar  edition  (W.,  xiv.  and  xv. 2) 
of  Goethe’s  works.  The  most  important  facts  about  the  editions  are 
given  in  the  text  of  the  above  chapter  on  Faust.  It  may  here  be  stated, 
by  way  of  Supplement,  that  the  first  complete  edition  of  the  tragedy 
appeared  in  the  year  of  Goethe’s  death  in  the  forty-first  volume  of  the 
Cotta  pocket  edition  ( Goethes  nachgelassene  Werke.  Erster  Band,  1832). 
— Z. 

38.  The  letter  to  Cotta  in  which  he  offers  Faust  as  a fragment  is  dated 
the  ist  of  May,  1805,  with  a postscript  dated  the  i4th  of  June.  Hence 
his  definite  decision  was  not  made  tili  the  latter  date.  In  a letter  to 
Zelter  of  the  3d  of  June,  1826,  he  connects  the  giving  up  of  his  work  on 
Faust  with  the  death  of  Schiller. 

39.  Goethe’s  relation  to  Byron  is  treated  in  an  essay  by  A.  Brandl 
in  G J .,  xx.  (1899).  Cf.  also  E.  Köppel’s  biography  of  Lord  Byron  in  the 
series  Geisteshelden,  vol.  xliv.  (1903). — Z. 

40.  I accept  the  interpretation  of  Pniower  ( Goethes  Faust.  Zeugnisse 
und  Excurse  zu  seiner  Entstehungsgeschichte,  p.  191),  that  Goethe  meant 
the  ending  of  the  “Helena,”  which  has  been  preserved  (WL.xv.,2  176  ff.). 

41.  Kuno  Fischer,  in  his  Goethes  Faust,  4th  ed.  (1902),  vol.  i.,  gives 
a detailed  account  of  the  folk-books,  Marlowe’s  Doctor  Faustus,  the  Ger- 
man populär  plays,  and  Lessing’s  Faust  fragment.  Cf.  also  W.  Creizenach, 
Versuch  einer  Geschichte  des  Volksschauspiels  vom  Dr.  Faust  (1878). — Z. 

42.  On  the  basis  of  differences  in  style,  contradictions,  and  different 
presuppositions,  Wilhelm  Scherer,  in  his  Aufsätze  über  Goethe  (1886), 
desired  to  separate  Faust’s  first  soliloquy  into  two  parts,  the  first  of 
which  he  considered  older  than  the  second.  The  text  of  the  above 
chapter  on  Faust  seeks  to  controvert  this  hypercriticism. — Z. 

43.  Kuno  Fischer  has  set  forth  this  view  of  Mephistopheles  as  an 


382 


Gbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


emissary  of  the  Earth-Spirit  in  the  second  volume  of  his  above  cited  work 
on  Goethe’s  Faust  (see  Note  41),  a work  which  in  many  respects  is 
thoroughgoing  and  sound.  I consider  the  view  incorrect,  since  Fischer 
has  to  do  violence  to  a great  many  passages,  particularly  in  the  “original 
version,”  in  Order  to  maintain  it  for  a single  moment.  Minor,  in  his 
Goethes  Faust  (1901),  i.,  225,  asserts,  withmore  clearness,  tobe  sure,  than 
politeness,  that  “all  the  airy  hypotheses,  according  to  which  Mephisto- 
pheles was  originally  introduced,  not  as  the  devil,  but  as  a servant  of  the 
Earth-Spirit,  are  thus  seen  to  fall  to  the  ground.  A Faust  without  a 
compact  with  the  devil  is  a monstrosity,  a bit  of  nonsense,  that  never 
occurred  to  Goethe  and  never  could  occur  to  a poet.  It  is  an  insipid 
subtlety  of  philological  leaming.”  I myself  do  not  go  quite  so  far.  In 
the  scene  “Forest  and  Cavern”  it  really  did  occur  to  the  poet,  perhaps 
with  reference  to  an  older  plan,  but  it  was  only  in  this  one  scene.  In  the 
whole  of  the  original  Version,  as  it  lies  before  us  in  the  Urfaust,  Mephisto- 
pheles is  really  the  devil.  The  long  articles  on  Mephistopheles  in  GJ., 
xxii.,  and  xxiii.  (1901  and  1902),  by  Max  Morris  are  very  excellent,  but 
unfortunately  he  too,  as  has  long  been  known,  considers  Mephistopheles 
the  emissary  and  servant  of  the  Earth-Spirit. — Z. 

44.  The  outline  of  the  disputation*may  be  found  in  the  paralipomena 
11  to  20  ( W .,  xiv.).  The  above  conjecture  as  to  the  purpose  of  the  scene 
rests,  to  be  sure,  only  on  the  uncertain  ground  of  the  closing  words 
(paralipomenon  11),  “Majority.  Minority  of  the  audience  as  a chorus.” 
— Z. 

45.  In  an  address  on  Goethes  Faust,  published  in  Strassburger  Goethe - 
vorträge  (1899)  Th.  Ziegler  discusses  in  detail  the  question  whether  it  was 
Goethe’s  original  intention  that  Faust  should  be  saved,  or  should  fall  into 
the  power  of  hell.  The  fact  that  this  question  was  still  undecided  in  the 
Urfaust  and  in  the  Fragment  added  to  the  dramatic  suspense. — Z. 

46.  Cf.  Fr.  Vischer,  Goethes  Faust.  Neue  Beiträge  zur  Kritik  des 
Gedichts  (1875),  p.  151.  This  book,  together  with  Vischer's  defence  of 
it  in  Altes  und  Neues  (1881),  is  doubtless  the  most  profound  work  ever 
written  on  Faust.  Vischer’s  influence  will  be  observed  in  many  parts  of 
the  above  chapter,  for  which  reason  I refer  to  it  here  especially  as  a 
“source.” — Z. 

47.  So  says  Johannes  Niejahr  in  his  article  entitled  Die  Oster- 
szenen und  die  Vertragsszene  in  Goethes  Faust  {GJ.,  xx.,  p.  190).  His 
article  begins  with  the  striking  Statement,  ‘ ‘ Hitherto  critics  have  paid 
but  little  attention  to  those  portions  of  the  First  Part  of  Faust  which 
belong  to  the  closing  period  of  the  composition.”  As  though  it  had  not 
been  known  since  the  work  of  Fr.  Vischer  what  difficult  problems  lie  here! 
But  it  is  not  necessary  on  that  account  to  find  a contradiction  in  every 
difhculty. — Z. 

48.  In  Plutarch’s  biography  of  Marcellus  (cap.  20)  we  read  of  the 
“mothers,”  whom  the  Greeks  worshipped  as  goddesses.  It  was  doubt- 
less this  passage  that  Goethe  had  in  mind  when  he  “betrayed  ’’  to  Ecker- 
mann {Gespräche  mit  Goethe,  ii.,  Jan.  10,  1830),  “that  he  had  found  in 
Plutarch  that  in  the  days  of  ancient  Greece  the  mothers  were  spoken 
of  as  divinities.” — Z. 


IRotes 


383 


49.  Johann  Jakob  Wagner  (1775-1841)  of  Ulm,  professor  in  the 
University  of  Würzburg,  is  said  to  have  presented  this  view  in  his  lectures. 
Cf.  Düntzer,  Goethes  Faust.  Zweiter  Theil  (1851),  p.  119. — Z. 

50.  Veit  Valentin,  in  his  Goethes  Faustdichtung  in  ihrer  künstler- 
ischen Einheit  dargestellt  (1894),  p.  154  ff.,  asserts  that  Goethe  thought 
of  the  “Homunculus  as  an  embodiment  of  life  energy  that  was  only 
temporary  and  hence  bound  to  the  glass,  and  that  he  made  it  strive  after 
a real  union  with  material  elements  and  after  a state  in  which  it  could 
develop  a real  form.”  The  same  view  is  set  forth  in  his  posthumous 
work  Die  klassische  Walpurgisnacht  (1901),  p.  82  ff.  The  end  of  the 
Homunculus  he  interprets  as  a“  marriage  of  the  Homunculus  with  the 
sea,”  and  he  gives  as  the  fundamental  motive  of  the  “Classical  Wal- 
purgis Night”  “a  reanimation  which  is  to  lead  to  a real  existence.” — Z. 

51.  The  Strange  Interpretation  of  Care  was  presented  by  Hermann 
Türck  in  his  Eine  neue  Fausterklärung.  See  also  his  article  entitled  Die 
Bedeutung  der  Magie  und  Sorge  in  Goethes  Faust  ( GJ .,  xxi.).  The  merit 
of  this  cleverly  presented,  but  untenable,  interpretation  lies  in  the  fact 
that  from  now  on  interpreters  of  Faust  will  be  forced  to  pay  more  serious 
attention  to  the  figure  of  Care  than  has  hitherto  been  the  case ; and  they 
will  also  need  to  solve  the  problem  which  Türck  has  pointed  out. — Z. 

52.  That  it  was  Goethe’s  original  intention  to  make  Faust  not  only 

wish  to  dismiss  magic  from  his  life,  but  actually  do  it,  is  shown  by  a 
variety  of  Sketches  [See  W.,  xv.p  153  ff. — C.],  one  of  which  runs:  “I  long 

ago  to  magic  said  farewell,  and  gladly  rid  my  mind  of  every  spell.” 
Another  in  prose  runs:  ‘‘I  endeavour  to  put  aside  every thing  that  is 
magical.”  But  in  the  final  redaction  Goethe  left  merely  the  desire  on 
the  part  of  Faust  to  give  up  magic. — Z. 

53.  This  altruistic,  social  side  of  the  work  of  civilisation  is  only 
suggested  in  Faust.  It  is  expressed  far  more  energetically  and  positively 
in  Die  Wanderjahre.  Faust  was  altogether  too  firmly  rooted  in  the 
eighteenth  Century.  Hence  it  is  all  the  more  pleasing  that  social  ethics, 
as  a most  modern  tendency,  is  at  least  not  wholly  lacking  in  the  drama. 
In  the  emphasis  which  he  places  on  freedom  (‘‘  upon  free  soil  ’mid  a people 
free”)  Goethe,  in  a certain  sense,  retums  to  the  spirit  of  his  early  works 
Götz  and  Egmont. — Z. 

54.  The  conception  of  heaven  in  the  last  scene  goes  back  to  the 
Campo  Santo  pictures  in  Pisa,  which  Goethe  knew  from  Carlo  Lasinio’s 
Pitture  al  Fresco  del  Campo  Santo  (see  Annalen,  1818,  last  paragraph). 
Cf.  G.  Dehio,  Alt-Italienische  Gemälde  als  Quelle  zu  Goethes  Faust  (GJ., 
vii.). — Z. 

55.  The  unity  of  this  incommensurable  work  lies  only  in  the  person 

of  the  poet,  and  in  the  course  of  the  development  which  he  makes  his 
hero  pass  through,  as  he  himself  has  done.  Veit  Valentin,  the  defender 
of  the  ‘‘artistic”  unity  of  Faust,  virtually  admits  this  when  he  says,  in 
his  above  quoted  work  (see  Note  50):  ‘‘The  extravagant  employment 

of  the  epic  in  the  so-called  Second  Part,  together  with  the  frequent  em- 
ployment of  the  lyric — retained  from  the  Urfaust — in  the  so-called  First 
Part,  and  the  genuinely  dramatic  and  epic  motivation,  as  it  appears 
in  many  individual  scenes  in  both  Parts  and  in  the  general  plot  of  the 


384 


ftbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


whole  drama,  doubtless  justify  one  in  speaking  of  a lack  of  unity  in  the 
poetic  style.”  Then  immediately  afterward  he  well  says  : ‘‘Just  as  in 
the  Urfaust  climax  succeeds  climax,  without  any  necessity  being  feit  of 
explaining  the  motivation  of  the  connecting  parts  which  bring  all  the 
individual  parts  into  a causal  relation,  so  in  the  Second  Part  motive 
follows  motive  without  bringing  out  the  climaxes  strongly  by  means 
of  more  extensive  treatment,  and  without  marking  them  plainly,  to  show 
that  they  are  climaxes,  for  the  sake  of  the  immediate  impression.” 

Herein  lies  the  difficulty  of  a performance  of  the  Second  Part,  which 
is  considerably  increased  by  the  necessity  of  making  omissions.  One 
receives  more  the  impression  of  a stränge  spectacle,  difficult  to  com- 
prehend,  than  of  a great  and  powerful  drama.  And  so  the  theatre  never 
does  full  justice  to  Faust.  In  the  First  Part  the  players  are  seldom  able  to 
represent  the  whole  depth  and  fulness  of  Goethe ’s  figures;  the  portrayer 
of  Faust,  especially,  finds  himself  confronted  by  a problem  which  simply 
defies  solution.  Even  Goethe  himself  feit  concerning  the  First  Part  that  it 
was  not  suited  to  the  stage,  and  hence  his  own  attempts  to  have  it  per- 
formed  in  Weimar  were  brought  to  naught  by  the  difficulty  of  the  under- 
taking.  The  first  attempt  by  others  was  made  by  Prince  Radziwill  in 
Berlin,  in  1819,  when  he  gave  a private  performance  before  the  Court. 
The  first  public  performance  occurred  in  Breslau  in  1820.  Both  these 
performances  included  only  fragments  of  the  First  Part.  It  was  pro- 
duced  for  the  first  time  in  its  entirety  by  Theatre  Director  August  Klinge- 
mann, in  1829,  in  Brunswick.  That  same  year,  in  honour  of  Goethe’s 
eightieth  birthday,  a number  of  other  theatres  followed  his  example, 
notably  the  theatre  of  Weimar,  where,  of  course,  the  poet  had  something 
to  say  while  the  play  was  being  rehearsed.  Thus  the  First  Part  was 
gained  permanently  for  the  German  stage. 

The  Second  Part  had  from  the  beginning  been  arranged  by  the  poet 
with  reference  to  “the  spectators’  enjoyment  of  appearances,”  that  is, 
with  a view  to  its  effectiveness  on  the  stage.  In  1849  the  Helena  tragedy 
was  performed  for  the  first  time,  under  Gutzkow’s  direction  in  Dresden, 
in  celebration  of  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  Goethe’s  birth.  The 
whole  Second  Part  was  produced  live  years  later  by  Wollheim  da  Fonseca 
in  Hamburg.  The  entire  work,  with  its  two  Parts,  had  to  wait  twenty 
years  more  before  it  was  performed.  Otto  Devrient  produced  it  in  1875 
in  Weimar  on  a mystery  stage,  divided  into  three  parts.  It  was  his  pur- 
pose  and  hope  to  make  clear  to  the  public  the  plot  of  the  whole  work  as  a 
unity.  Nowadays  Faust  is  presented  on  all  the  larger  stages  of  Ger- 
many,  the  First  Part  frequently,  the  Second  rarely,  but  Devrient’s  hope 
has  not  been  realised.  As  a usual  thing  those  who  really  know  the  First 
Part  go  home  from  a performance  not  fully  satisfied,  because  theatrical 
art  is  so  hopelessly  inadequate  to  cope  with  the  mighty  poem.  The 
audience  listens  to  the  Second  Part  as  something  not  comprehended 
and  in  many  respects  incomprehensible,  and  is  at  most  eager  to  see 
how  successfully  theatrical  technique  can  cope  with  the  task  here  set. 
Cf.  W.  Creizenach,  Die  Bühnengeschichte  des  Goetheschen  Faust  (1881). 
— Z. 

56.  Die  letzte  Krankheit  Goethes,  beschrieben  und  nebst  einigen  andern 


IRoteö 


385 


Bemerkungen  über  denselben , mitgeteilt  von  Dr.  Carl  Vogel , Grossherzogi. 
Sächsischem  Hofrate  und  Leibarzte  zu  Weimar.  Nebst  einer  Nachschrift 
von  C.  W.  Hufeland.  Berlin.  1833. — Z. 

57.  We  have  a detailed  account  of  this  by  Chief  Architect  Coudray, 
who  made  the  arrangements  for  the  lying  in  state  and  the  burial,  in 
Goethes  drei  letzte  Lebenstage.  Die  Handschrift  eines  Augenzeugen  heraus- 
gegeben von  Karl  Holsten.  Heidelberg.  1889.  Cf.  also  Dr.  Karl  Wil- 
helm Müller,  Goethes  letzte  literarische  Tätigkeit,  Verhältnis  zum  Ausland 
und  Scheiden,  nach  den  Mitteilungen  seiner  Freunde  dargestellt.  Jena. 
1832. — Z. 


INDEX 


Abendstunde  eines  Einsiedlers  (Pes- 
talozzi), iii.,  229 

Abhandlungen  zu  Goethes  Leben 
(Düntzer),  ii.,  445 
“Abklingen,”  iii.,  119,  120 
Absolutism,  Goethe’s  belief  in,  i., 
31 4 

“Ach,  da  ich  irrte,  hatt’  ich  viel 
Gespielen”  (from  Zueignung), 
üi-,  34 

“Ach  neige,  du  Schmerzensreiche’-’ 
(from  Faust),  iii.,  376 
“Ach,  um  deine  feuchten  Schwing- 
en” (from  Buch  Suleika),  iii.,  23 
Achard,  ii.,  450/. 

Achilleis,  ii.,  273,  332;  iii.,  263 
Achilles,  ii.,  332 
Adelbert  vonWeislingen,  i.,  429 
Adelheid,  character  in  Götz,  i.,  168, 
171,  172,  179/.,  428;  ii.,  136 
Adersbacher  Felsen,  ii.,  92 
Adler  und  Taube,  iii.,  47 
Adoration  of  the  Cross  (Calderon), 
i->  379 

Adriatic,  the,  i.,  373;  ii.,  190 
Advocate,  see  law 
JEneid,  the,  i.,  13 1 
ASschylos,  i.,  114;  ii.,  391 
-«Etna.,  i.,  399;  iii.,  24,  35 
“Affaire  du  collier,  ” i.,  366 
Africa,  i.,  264,  397 
Agamemnon,  ii.,  3 
Agathon  (Wieland),  ii.,  259 
Agnes,  iii.,  35,  36 
Agrippe  von  Nettesheim,  iii.,  271 
Aja,  Frau,  nickname  of  Goethe’s 
mother,  i.,  222,  296,  344/.,  354; 

ii. ,  2 10 ; iii.,  145 

Aktenstücke  zur  Geschichte,  etc., 
(Scheibler),  ii.,  451 
Alarkos  (Fr.  Schlegel),  iii.,  144 
Alba,  character  in  Egmont,  i.,  33 off. 
Albert,  character  in  Werther,  i., 
160,  191  ff.,  196,  199 
Albrecht,  Rector,  i. , 17 
Alcest,  character  in  Die  Mitschul- 
digen, i.,  83/.,  425 


Alchemy,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  93, 
103 

Alcinous,  palace  of,  i.,  162  ; iii.,  92 
Aldobrandini  Wedding,  the,  an  an- 
tique  fresco,  ii.,  318 
Alemannische  Gedichte  (Hebel),  iii., 
25 

Alexander,  Czarof  Russia,  ii.,  408 ff., 
413/.,  418,  432 

Alexander  the  Great,  i.,  201;  iii., 
274 

Alexandria,  i.,  170 
Alexandrine,  the,  Goethe’s  use  of, 
i-,  85 

Alexis  (Karl  von  Schweitzer),  i.,  35/ 
Alexis  und  Dora,  ii.,  319;  iii.,  52, 
62,  376 

“Alle  Freiheitsapostel,”  etc.  (from 
Venezianische  Epigramme,  No. 
50),  ii.,  149 

Allegory,  distinction  between  sym- 
bolism  and,  iii.,  30 6f. 

Allgemeine  Literatur-Zeitung  (Jena) , 
the,  ii.,  150,  423;  Goethe’s  con- 
tributions  to,  325,  332,  335,  425 
Allleben,  quotations  from,  iii.,  6 
Alphonso,  Duke  of  Ferrara,  ii.,  41 
Alphonso,  character  in  Tasso,  ii., 
35-  38,  41,  4 3 ff->  44i 
Alpin,  character  in  Ossian,  i.,  193 
Alps,  the,  i.,  212,  226,  228,  229, 
348/.,  353.  369.  372,  384,  402, 
407;  11.,  79,  215,  314;  in-,  92,  i96- 
215,  259,  270 

“Als  eine  Blume  zeigt  sie  sich  der 
Welt”  (from  Auf  Miedings  Tod), 

1.,  265 

Alsatia,  i.,  95 /.,  98,  99;  Goethe 
makes  collection  of  folk-songs  in, 
117,238;  139,  311,  343,  345; 

11.,  126,  421,  432;  iii.,  25,  62,374 
Altdorf,  i.,  227,  431 

Altenberg,  ii.,  417 
Altenstein,  ii.,  451 
“Alter,  hörst  du  noch  nicht  auf” 
(from  “ Wenn  ich  auf  dem 
Markte  geh’  ”),  iii.,  155 


387 


3 88 


Infcei 


Altes  und  Neues  (Vischer),  iii.,  382 
Älteste  Urkunde  des  Menschenge- 
schlechts (Herder),  iii.,  381 
Alt-Italienische  Gemälde  als  Quelle 
zu  Goethes  Faust  (Dehio),  iii.,  383 
Altmühl,  ii. , 270 
Am  Flusse,  iii.,  374 
Amanuenses,  Goethe’s,  iii.,  16 3/. 
Amateur  Theatre,  the,  in  Weimar, 

1.,  258;  ii.,  32,  93 

America,  i.,  230,  241,  360;  ii.,  249; 

111.,  199,  211,213,215,216;  Goe- 
the’s attitude  toward,  219 ff.  1224, 
225 f.,  242,  273 

“Amerika,  du  hast  es  besser” 
(from  Den  vereinigten  Staaten), 

iii.,  220 

Amine,  character  in  Die  Laune  des 
Verliebten,  i.,  81/. 

Amine,  original  title  of  Die  Laune 
des  Verliebten,  i.,  39,  81,  423/. 
Amor,  i.,  167,  411;  ii.,  81 
Amor  and  Psyche  (Raphael),  i.,  386 
Ampere,  i.,  417;  ii.,  443 
Amphion,  i.,  43 
Amyntas,  ii.,  445 

An  Beiinden,  quotations  from,  i., 
218,  219/. ; 232 

An  Cidli  (Klopstock),  quotation 
from,  i.,  149 

An  den  Herzog  Karl  August,  quota- 
tion from,  i.,  283 

An  den  Kuchenbäcker  Hendel,  i., 

65/- 

An  den  Mond  {An  Luna),  i.,  425 
An  den  Mond  (“Füllest  wieder 
Busch  und  Tal”),  i.,  343;  iii.,  19, 
40/f.,  43/.,  50,  375,  376 
An  die  Entfernte,  iii.,  376 
An  die  Erwählte,  iii.,  376 
“An  die  Türen  will  ich  schleichen,” 

iii.,  376 

An  ein  goldenes  Herz,  das  er  am 
Halse  trug,  i.,  228 
An  eine  Freundin,  i.,  425/. 

An  Frau  von  Stein  {W.,  iv.,  210), 
quotation  from,  i.,  297 
An  Frau  von  Stein  ( W .,  v1.,  66),  i., 

363 

An  Lida,  quotation  from,  i.,  306 
An  Lili,  quoted,  i.,  245 
An'Luna,  i.,  425;  iii.,  374 
An  Merck,  quotation  from,  i.,  175; 
428  f. 

An  Mignon,  ii.,  314;  iii.,  376 
An  Psychen  (Wieland),  quotation 
from,  i.,  275 ff. 

An  Schwager  Kronos,  i.,  211;  iii., 
^ 40,  47.  375 

An  Weither  (first  number  of 
Trilogie  der  Leidenschaft),  iii., 
161 


Analyse  und  Synthese,  quotation 
from,  iii.,  129 f. 

Anatomisches  Handbuch  (Loder), 

111.,  90 

Anatomy,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  2, 
308,  361,  362;  ii.,  323,  432;  iii., 
82,  86/?.,  93,  103 
Anderlind,  ii.,  450 
Andermatt,  i.,  227 
Andre,  i.,  230;  iii.,  374 
“Angedenken  du  verklungner 
Freude”  (from  An  ein  goldenes 
Herz,  das  er  am  Halse  trug),  i.,  228 
Angela,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ters Wanderfahre,  iii.,  204,  223 
Angelico,  Fra,  iii.,  196 
Angelo,  Michael,  i.,  329,  385 /.,  404; 

11.,  2 1 ; iii.,  352 

Anger,  Goethe’s  fits  of,  i.,  417/. 
Anhang  zur  Lebensbeschreibung  des 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  iii.,  100 
Anmerkungen  übers  Theater  (Lenz), 

1.,  121 

Anmerkungen  zu  Rameaus  Neffe,  i., 
379 

Anna  Amalia,  i.,  144,  255 ff.,  261, 
263,  264,  266,  271,  273,  293 f., 
312/.,  344/-;  ü-,  85 ff.,  94,  112, 
348,  442;  111.,  258 

Annalen,  ii.,  158,  338,  354:  iii-,  153, 
154,  172,  383;  see  Tag-  und 

..  Jahreshefte 

Annchen  (Annette),  see  Anna  Kath- 
arina Schönkopf 

Annette,  i.,  56,  86,  87,  264,  424,  425 
Ansbach,  i.,  259;  ii.,  341 
“Anschaun,  wenn  es  dir  gelingt” 
(from  Genius,  die  Büste  der  Natur 
enthüllend),  iii.,  85 
Antaeus,  iii.,  131 
Antigone,  ii.,  22 

Antigone  (Sophocles),  quotation 
from,  i.,  199 
Antinoüs,  i.,  438 

Antiope,  character  in  Elpenor,  ii., 
440 

Antique,  the,  i.,  3;  ii.,  338 
Antique  art,  Goethe  disregards,  i., 
72;  his  study  of,  100,  122,  1S3, 
Sfiff-,  and  ii.,  87,  and  iii.,  11; 
his  adherence  to,  ii.,  81,  and  iii., 
9,  100,  263 

Antoni,  character  in  Wer  ist  der 
Verräter?  iii.,  202/. 

Antonio,  character  in  Tasso,  ii.,  35, 
38,  41.  4 3/?->  44i/- 
Antwerp,  i.,  iii,  434 
Apel’s  garden  in  Leipsic,  i.,  45 
Apennines,  the,  i.,  382 ; iii.,  113 
Apolda,  ii.,  450;  iii.,  137 
Apollo,  ii.,  4,  11,  23,  25,  33 ; iii.,  16S 
Apollo  Belvedere,  i.,  3S5,  43S 


1nfc>ei  389 


Apology  (Plato),  i.,  421 
Appian  Way,  the,  i.,  387 
Arcadia,  iii.,  339 
Arcadian  society,  i. , 3 5 
Architecture,  Goethe ’s  study  of,  i., 
104/.,  372 ff.\  Von  deutscher  Bau- 
kunst, 105,  142;  Dritte  Wallfahrt 
nach  Erwins  Grabe , 228/. ; iii.,  98; 
see  antique  art 

Architettura  (Palladio),  i.,  377 /. 
Ardennes,  the,  ii. , 142 
Argonne,  Forest  of,  ii.,  iii 
Arianne  an  Wetty,  i.,  425 f. 

Ariel,  character  in  Faust,  iii.,  331 
Ariosto,  ii.,  42,  46,  47,  67,  69,  442 
Aristocrat,  Goethe  an,  ii.,  77,  193 
Aristophanes,  i.,  253,  259;  ii.,  209; 

iii.,  299 

Aristotle,  i.,  29,  178,  363,  423;  ii., 
171/. ; iii.,  127,  269 
Arkas,  character  in  Iphigenie,  ii.,  6 ff 
Arkwright,  iii.,  215 
Arlon,  ii.,  113 

Arndt,  Ernst  Moritz,  ii.,  429,  431/., 
454;  iii-,  15 

Arnim,  Achim  von,  iii.,  145 
Ars  Poetica  (Horace),  quotation 
from,  i.,  74 

Arsinoe,  character  in  Satyros,  i.,  249 
Art,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  21/., 
70 ff.,  73.  I02>  I59>  i67-  i83>  i85, 
279,  and  ii.,  77,  87,  160,  317/-, 
325 ff.,  and  iii.,  10,  11,  100 ff.\  he 
supervises  the  institutes  of,  in 
Weimar,  ii.,  76;  he  plans  a work 
on  the  development  of,  311/.; 
his  labour  for  the  advancement 
of,  322;  his  lectures  on,  331; 
harmony  between  his  Science  and, 

iii.,  81  ff.,  98 ff.'  see  also  drawing, 
engraving,  etching,  painting,  and 
wood-engraving 

Arthur,  character  in  Shakespeare ’s 
King  John,  ii.,  96 f. 

Arve,  the,  i.,  351 
Asia,  i.,  373,  397;  iii.,  1 ff. 

Asia  Minor,  iii.,  55 
Assisi,  i.,  382 

Assunta,  the,  (Titian),  i.,  438 
Astronomy,  Goethe’s  study  of,  ii., 
323 

“ At  the  Fountain,”  scene  in  Faust, 

iii.,  275,  283 

“At  the  Spinning  Wheel,”  scene  in 
Faust,  iii.,  275,  284,  375 
Athena,  ii.,  5 

Athenäum  (the  Schlegels),  ii.,  263, 
385;  iii.,  144 
Athens,  ii.,  202 
Athroismos,  iii.,  87 
Atmospheric  pressure,  Goethe’s 
theory  of,  iii.,  117 


Atta  Troll  (Heine),  quotation  from, 

111.,  68 

Atzbach,  i.,  163 

Auerbach,  Berthold,  iii.,  377 

“ Auerbach’s  Cellar,”  scene  in  Faust, 

1.,  41,  342  ; iii.,  257,  275,  283,  287, 
326-  327 

Auerbachs  Hof,  i.,  45,  64 
Auerstädt,  i.,  41 

Auf  dem  See,  quotation  from,  i., 
226  ; iii.,  40 ; quoted,  72 ff.  1375,3 76 
Auf  Miedings  Tod,  quotations  from, 

1.,  258,  265,  273 

Aufsätze  über  Goethe  (Scherer),  iii., 
381 

“Aug\  mein  Aug’,  was  sinkst  du 
nieder,  ” see  Auf  dem  See 
Augereau,  Marshai,  ii.,  343 
Augsburg,  i.,  174,  408,  432;  ii.,  105 
Auguste,  Princess,  iii.  165 
Aulis,  ii.,  3,  17 
Aurea  Catena  Homeri,  i.,  93 
Aurelie,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter), ii.,  238,  242,  248  ff.,  266, 
Aus  dem  Goethehause  (Heitmüller) , 

i- ,  434 

Aus  Friedrich  L.  v.  Stolbergs  Ju- 
gendjahren (Hermes),  i.,  430 
Aus  Goethes  Frühzeit  (Scherer),  i., 
425 

Aus  Goethes  Leben  (Ludecus),  ii., 
444 

Aus  Herders  Nachlass,  i.,  429 
Aus  Makariens  Archiv  (in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  W ander jahre),  iii.,  193, 
242/. 

Aus  Weimars  Glanzzeit  (Diezmann), 

ii- ,  444 

Aussöhnung  (third  number  of  Trilo- 
gie der  Leidenschaft) , inspired  by 
Mme.  Szymanowska,  iii.,  166 
Austerlitz,  ii.,  340 
Austria,  i.,  11,  24,  321,  322, 

324/7-,  437;  ü-  89,104,340,415; 
Goethe  meets  Empress  of,  415, 
419;  he  meets  Emperor  of,  418; 
424,  426,  427;  iii.,  11,  138,  140 
Autographen-Katalog  (Cohen),  ii., 
453 

Autographs,  Goethe’s  Collection  of, 

iii- ,  163 

Bacchus,  iii.,  61 
Bach,  P.  E.,  iii.,  375 
Bächtold,  ii.,  440,  441 
Bacon,  Francis,  ii.,  162;  iii.,  95, 
273 

Baden,  i.,  182,  310,  325;  ii.,  341; 

111.,  26 

Baden-Baden,  iii.,  29 
Bahrdt,  i.,  152 
Bailleu,  i.,  437 


390 


Infcei 


Ballade  vom  vertriebenen  und  zu- 
rückkehrenden Grafen,  iii.,  56, 
57 68 

Baltic  Sea,  the,  iii.,  62,  117 
Bamberg,  i.,  171,  172,  174,  179 
Barbara,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  ii. , 218,  250/.,  266 
Bardolino,  i.,  270 
Bärenthal,  the,  i.,  100 
Bartheldmy,  i.,  iii 
Basedow,  i.,  205 ff.,  210,  246,  251; 

11.,  1 14 ; iii.,  15 

Basel,  i.,  228,  347;  ii.,  128,  441 
Bastberg,  the,  i.,  roo 
Bastille,  the,  ii.,  103,  145 
Bätsch,  ii.,  203 
Batteux,  i.,  412;  ii.,  325 
Battista  Pigna,  character  in  the 
original  Tasso,  ii.,  35 
Baucis,  character  in  Faust,  iii.,  345 
Baumannshöhle,  the,  i.,  338 
Bavaria,  i.,  322;  ii.,  341 
Bayle,  i.,  30,  42 x ; ii.,  T57 
Bayreuth,  ii.,  119,  341 
Bear,  Goethe’s  nickname,  i.,  220, 
225 

Beaumarchais,  source  for  Clavigo,  i., 
235//. ; concerning  Clavigo,  432/. 
Beaumarchais,  character  in  Clavigo, 
i-,  237,  238,  432;  iii.,  297 
Beaumarchais  (Bettelheim),  i.,  433 
Beauties  of  Shakespeare  (Dodd),  i., 
79 

Beautiful,  the,  Goethe’s  conception 
of,  i.,  75,  77,  106,  423;  ii.,  196/., 
389;  symbolised  in  Pandora, 
39i#  ; 453 

Beautiful  soul,  i.,  92;  ii.,  116;  char- 
acter in  Wilhelm  Meister,  238 ff, 
265,  and  iii.,  203^. 

Beck,  actor,  ii.,  124 
Beckenried,  ii.,  318 
Bedeutende  Fordernis  durch  ein 
einziges  geistreiches  Wort,  iii.,  85, 
92 

Beethoven,  ii.,  420;  iii.,  3747. 
“Before  the  City  Gate,”  scene  in 
Faust,  iii.,  315 /. 

Behrisch,  i.,  54^.,  64 ff.,  79,  81,  86, 
88,  425 

Bei  Betrachtung  von  Schillers  Schä- 
del, iii.,  193 

Beiträge  zur  Optik,  ii.,  100,  104,  323  ; 

111.,  118,  124,  126 

Belagerung  von  Mainz,  ii.,  118/. ; 

111.,  172 

Belles-lettres,  Goethe’s  interest  in, 

1.,  40,  46,  73,  79,  159 
Bellomo,  ii.,  93/.,  96,  99 
Belriguardo,  ii.,  42,  43,  60 
Belsazar,  i.,  39,  86 
Belsazar  (Heine),  iii.,  52 


Bentham,  iii.,  169,  192 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  ii.,  330 
B6ranger,  iii.,  173 
Bergamo,  i.,  373 
Bergen,  battle  of,  i.,  21 
Bergstrasse,  the,  i.,  233 
Berlichingen,  Götz  von,  see  Götz 
Berlin,  i.,  177,  259,  260,  272,  323, 
429.  433.  437-  439;  ü-.  73.  9°. 
205,  208,  346,  416,  425,  426,  434, 
441,  45°:  üi-.  117.  140.  142,  153, 
166,  174,  384 
Berlioz,  Hector,  iii.,  376 
Bemard,  Lili  betrothed  to,  ii.,  301 
Bemard,  Nikolaus  (Lili’s  uncle),  i., 
220;  iii.,  17 

Berne,  i.,  212,  347/.,  350,  375 
Bernhard,  Duke,  iii.,  165,  380 
Bemstorff,  Count,  iii.,  75 
Bertram,  iii.,  10 

Bertuch,  i.,  262 f. ; concerning'  Goe- 
the, 297;  320/.,  435,  436;  ii.,  82, 
124,  334,  442:  iii.,  137 
Beschreibung  der  Stadt  Leipzig 
(Leonhardi),  i.,  423 
Bessungen,  Forest  of,  i.,  147 
Bethlehem-Judah,  i.,  273 
Betrachtungen  im  Sinne  der  Wan- 
derer (in  Wilhelm  Meisters  W an- 
der fahre),  iii.,  193,  226 
Bettelheim,  i.,  433 
Bettina,  see  Brentano 
Bialystok,  ii.,  424 
Bible,  the,  i.,  13,  17,  48,  69,  79, 
91,  96,  109,  115,  119,  173,  28 3/., 
340ff.,  422;  ii.,  158;  iii.,  2,  127, 
149.  3J7 

Biedermann,  ii.,  174,  444.  453 : ui., 
107 

Biel,  i.,  347 
Biester,  ii.,  453 

Bilderbuch  für  Kinder  (Bertuch), 

i.,  263 

Bildung  der  Erde,  iii.,  115 
Bingen,  ii.,  109;  iii.,  6 
Birkenstock,  von,  iii.,  7 
Birs,  the,  i.,  347 
Bismarck,  iii.,  368 
Bitsch,  i.,  100 

Black  Eagle,  the,  i.,  325;  ii.,  426 
Black  Forest,  the,  i.,  225 
Blanckenburg,  ii.,  260 
Blessig,  i.,  212 
Blücher,  ii.,  408;  iii.,  12,  151 
Blume,  i.,  434/. 

Blumenbach,  Adele,  ii.,  451 
Blumenbach,  anatomist,  iii.,  88, 
9° 

Blumengruss,  111.,  376 
Boccaccio,  ii.,  439 
Böcklin,  iii.,  319 
Bode,  i.,  266 


Inöer 


Bodmer,  i.,  74,  107,  225,  246;  ii. , 
440;  iii.,  257 
Boehmer,  i.,  437 
Boerhave,  i.,  93 

Bohemia,  ii.,  92,  445,  449;  iii.,  14, 
112,  161 
Böhm,  i.,  433 

Böhme,  Frau,  i.,  46 /.,  65,  68,  80, 
101 

Böhme,  Councillor,  i.,  46,  68 
Bohn,  i.,  233 

Boie,  i.,  175,  176,  211,  259;  iii., 
257 

Boisserde,  Melchior,  iii.,  9,  148 
Boisser6e,  Sulpiz,  i.,  380,  417,  438; 
ü-,  354,  414;  iü-,  9ff-,  15 /■>  *7, 
19,  25/.,  148,  166,  170,  174,  181, 
192,  268 

Boito,  Arrigo,  iii.,  376 
Bologna,  i.,  381,  386,  438;  ii.,  440 
Bonaparte,  Napoleon,  see  Napoleon 
Bonaparte,  Jerome,  ii.,  421/. 
Bonaparte,  Louis,  ii.,  415/. 

“Bond,”  the,  in  Die  Wanderjahre, 

iii.,  214 ff.,  380 
Bondeli,  Julie,  i.,  146 
Bonn,  i.,  207 ; iii.,  16 
Borchardt,  i.,  233 
Borghese  gardens,  i.,  3;  iii.,  260 
Borkenhäuschen,  the,  i.,  271 
Born,  i.,  157,  162,  166 
Bosporus,  the,  ii.,  340 
Botany,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  308, 
361,  396,  398,  405;  ii.,  85,  323; 
in.,  90 ff-,  98,  103,  182,  377/. 
Böttiger,  i.,  297,  436;  ii.,  272,  309, 

334,  45. J,  453 
Boucke,  iii.,  46 
Bourienne,  iii.,  175 
Bower,  i.,  15,  419 
Bozen,  i.,  369;  iii.,  5 
Brackenburg,  character  in  Egmont, 
i->  335 

Braggadocio,  see  Der  Renommist 
Brahm,  i.,  429 
Brahms,  iii.,  374 f. 

Brandenburg,  i.,  24 
Brandl,  A.,  iii.,  381 
Braunfels,  i.,  166 
Brautnacht,  iii.,  374 
Breitinger,  i.,  107 

Breitkopf,  Bernhard,  composer  of 
music  to  Goethe’s  Neue  Lieder,  i., 
68,  86,  89;  iii.,  374 
Breitkopf,  Constanze,  i.,  59,  68,  77, 
81,  89 

Breitkopf,  Gottlob,  i.,  68,  89 
Breitkopf,  Wilhelmine,  i.,  59,  68, 
77-  89 

Bremen,  i.,  89,  153,  157;  111.,  174 
Brenner,  the,  i.,  369,  384;  iii.,  116 
Brenta,  the,  i.,  373 


391 

Brentano,  Antonie,  ii.,  449;  iii.,  7, 
16 

Brentano,  Bettina,  i.,  15,  419/.;  ii., 
407;  iii.,  145,  176 
Brentano,  Franz,  iii.,  7 
Brentano,  Klemens,  ii.,.202 ; iii.,  145 
Brentano,  Maximiliane,  see  La 
Roche 

Brentano,  Peter  Anton, i., 188/. ; iii., 
„ 7 

Brentano,  Sophie,  ii.,  444 
Brescia,  i.,  373 

Breslau,  i.,  429;  ii.,  90 ff.,  191;  iii., 
103,  384 

Bretten,  iii.,  271 

Brief  des  Pastors  zu  — ,an  den  neuen 
Pastor  zu  — , i.,  204 
Briefe  an  Merck  (Wagner),  iii.,  90, 
376 

Briefe  aus  der  Schweiz,  i.,  412/.,  43 1 f. 
Briefe  der  Frau  Rath  Goethe  (Kös- 
ter), ii.,  449 

Briefe  die  neueste  Literatur  betref- 
fend, see  Literaturbriefe 
Briefe  und  Aufsätze  von  Goethe 
(Schöll),  i.,  425,  430 
Briefe  von  Goethe  und  dessen  Mutter 
an  Friedrich  Freiherrn  von  Stein 
(Ebers  and  Kahlert),  ii.,  444 
Briefe  von  Heinrich  Voss  (Abr. 
Voss),  i.,  418 

Briefe  von  und  an  Goethe  (Riemer), 

11.,  453  ; iii.,  108/. 

Briefwechsel  des  Grossherzogs  Karl 
August  mit  Goethe,  iii.,  379 
Briefwechsel  zwischen  Goethe  und 
Zelter,  ii.,  451;  iii.,  362 
Briefwechsel  zwischen  Schiller  und 
Goethe,  iii.,  172 
Brienz,  i.,  348 
Brienzer  See,  i.,  348 
Brion,  Christian,  i.,  124 
Brion,  Frau,  i.,  124,  127,  241 
Brion,  Friederike,  i.,  85,  122,  123/7., 
137,  146,  173,  218,  222,  234,  236 f., 
240,  241,  345/.,  424,  426,  427; 

111.,  25/.,  27,  39,  44,  62,  155,  161, 
218,  252,  2947. 

Brion,  Marie  Salomea  i.,  124,  131 
Brion  Pastor,  i.,  124 
Brion,  Sophie,  i.,  124,  237,  427 
Brizzi,  ii.,  417 

Brocken,  the,  i.,  339 ff.,  352;  iii., 
38 7-,  297 ff.,  328 
Bromius,  iii.,  61 
Bruhns,  K.,  iii.,  129 
Brunnen,  ii.,  318 

Bruno,  Giordano,  i.,  248;  iii.,  84, 
273 

Brunswick,  i.,  156,  157,  256,  271I 

11.,  1 1 r,  1 12,  342  ; iii.,  384 
Brussels,  i.,  iii,  330,  333,  335 


392 


Infcex 


Brutus,  i.,  246;  ii.,  187 
Buch  Suleika  (in  West-östlicher 
Divan),  iii.,  18;  quotations  from, 
19/.  1 29 

Buchsweiler,  i.,  98,  100 
Buenco,  character  in  Clavigo,  i.,  237 
Buff,  Charlotte  (Lotte,  Lottchen), 
i-,  159 ff-,  183/.,  185, 199,  218,  227 ; 
ii.,  212/.;  iii.,  12,  18 
Buff,  Hans,  i.,  166 
Buff,  Karoline,  i.,  159 
Buff,  Steward,  i.,  159,  161,  165 
Buffon,  i.,  308 
Bully,  see  Raufbold 
Bully,  character  in  Faust,  iii.,  343 
Bünau,  Count  von,  i.,  261 
Bundeslied,  ii.,  207;  iii.,  376 
Bungert,  iii.,  376 
Burckhardt,  Jacob,  i.,  378 
Burdach,  iii.,  64 
Bürgel,  iii.,  137 
Bürger,  i.,  175/.,  296;  iii.,  52 
Buri,  von,  i.,  35/. 

Burkhardt,  i.,  435,  436;  ii.,  445 
Burschenschaft,  the,  iii.,  330,  337 
Bury,  Fritz,  i.,  387  ,407 ; ii.,  88,  314, 
406 

Büsching,  i.,  418/. 

Büttner,  iii.,  125 
Buttstädt,  ii.,  321 
Byron,  iii.,  166,  173,  26 4/J.,  341  /., 
3Sl 

Cabiri,  the,  iii.,  338 
Cäcilie,  character  in  Stella,  i.,  2 40 ff. 
Caesar,  i.,  170,  183;  hero  of  the 
dramatic  fragment,  24  5/.;  ii., 
184,  187,  413 

Cagliostro,  i.,  398/.;  ii.,  122 
Calderon,  i.,  5;  ii.,  417;  iii.,  144 
Campagna,  the,  i.,  387,  395 
Campagne  in  Frankreich,  see  Kam- 
pagne, etc. 

Campanella,  iii.,  273 
Camper,  iii.,  88,  89/. 

Campetti,  ii.,  368 
Campo  Santo,  iii.,  383 
Canals,  Goethe  interested  in,  iii., 
i74 

Capitol,  the,  in  Rome,  i.,  388,  406 
Capri,  i.,  401,  438/. 

Capua,  i.,  395 

Card-playing,  Goethe’s  attitude 
toward,  i.,  50,  68,  101 
Care,  character  in  Faust,  iii.,  346/., 
„ 383 

Carle tta  (Antonio  Valeri),  i.,  439 
Carlos,  character  in  Clavigo,  i.,  236 ff. 
Carlyle,  i.,  366;  iii.,  173,  244 
Cartwright,  iii.,  215 
Cäsar,  i.,  142,  204,  210,  239,  245/., 
365;  ii.,  273;  iii.,  254 


Cassel,  ii.,  421;  iii.,  89 
Cassius,  ii.,  187 
Castel  Gandolfo,  i.,  405 
Castelli,  iii.,  375 

Cataclysms,  the  theory  of,  iii.,  108 
Catania,  i.,  399/. 

Catechisme  des  Industriell  (Saint- 
Simon),  iii.,  192 

Categorical  imperative,  Kant’s,  ii., 
176 

Catharine  II.,  iii.,  253 
Catholicism,  iii.,  8/.,  351  ff. 

Causes,  final,  ii.,  16 if. 

Cecilia  Metella,  Tomb  of,  i.,  387. 
Cellini,  Benvenuto,  ii.,  330 
Cento,  i.,  381,  418 
Cestius,  Pyramid  of,  iii.,  187 
Chalons,  ii.,  190 

Chamber  of  Finance,  Goethe  Presi- 
dent of,  i.,  317,  320 ff.,  359,  360, 
361,  363,  435/. ; 11.,  36,  76 
Chamouni,  i.,  350 f. 

Champagne,  ii.,  iii 
Chancellor,  the,  character  in  Faust, 
iü-.  333 

Characteristic,  the,  in  art,  ii.,  326 ff. 
Charade,  iii.,  145 
Charles  I.,  ii.,  118 
Charles  IV.,  iii.,  345 
Charlotte,  character  in  Die  Wahl- 
verwandtschaften, ii.,  355/7.,  386 
Charlotte  von  Stein  (Düntzer),  ii., 
444 

Chefs-d'ceuvre  des  Theätres  Etran- 
gers,  i.,  430 

Chemistry,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  93, 
103 ; ii.,  323 
Chemnitz,  ii.,  416/. 

China,  iii.,  2,  144 

Chiron,  character  in  Faust,  iii.,  338 
Chloe,  iii.,  47 
Cholevius,  ii.,  450 
Chorus  Mysticus,  in  Faust,  iii.,  350, 
352 

Chriemhilde,  ii.,  440 
Christ,  i.,  212;  ii.,  158;  iii.,  57,  178, 
236/.,  299,  352,  363/. 
Christianity,  Goethe’s  attitude 
toward,  iii.,  363/. 

Christoph,  character  in  Die  W an- 
der fahre,  iii.,  213 

Clironicles  (Gottfried),  i.,  16,  222, 
420 

Church,  the,  Goethe’s  attitude 
toward,  i.,  17/.,  158/.,  and  iii., 
363 ; see  religion 
Cicero,  i.,  48;  iii.,  169 
Cipriani,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  ii.,  256/.;  iii.,  211 
“ Classical  Walpurgis  Night,”  scenes 
in  Faust,  iii.,  269,  335 ff.,  353, 

383 


Infcei 


393 


Claudine  von  Villa  Bella,  i.,  245, 
404,  410;  iii.,  375 
Claustal,  i.,  339 

Clavigo,  hero  of  the  draraa,  i.,  133, 
235 ff->  242 432 

Clavigo,  i.,  136;  discussion  of,  235- 
239»  432/- ; ii-,  272  ; iii.,  297 
Clock,  Goethe ’s  father’s,  iii.,  183 
Clodius,  i.,  46,  50,  65 f.,  80 
Coblenz,  i.,  166,  206;  ii. , 114;  iii.,  16 
Coburg  Gymnasium,  i.,  11 
Cohen,  ii.,  453 

Coins,  Goethe’s  Collection  of,  iii., 
163 

Col  de  Balme,  i.,  351 
Colberg,  ii.,  349 
Collections,  Goethe’s,  iii.,  163 
Colleoni,  statue  of,  i.,  438;  ii.,  87 
Colloquies,  German-Latin,  i.,  31^. 
Colma,  character  in  Ossian,  i.,  193 
Cologne,  i.,  207,  209/.,  325 ; ii.,  119; 

111.,  15/. 

Cologne  cathedral,  the,  i.,  209;  iii., 
9.  iS.  148 

Colosseum,  the,  in  Rome,  i.,  387, 

406 

Colour,  theory  of,  Goethe’s  study 
of,  i.,  50,  and  ii.,  99,  110,  118, 
323/.;  reception  of  Goethe’s,  201, 
204,  207 ; Goethe’s  attack  on 
Newton’s,  208;  his  lectures  on, 
331;  discussion  of  his,  iii.,  117- 

127,  378 

Columbus,  i.,  32;  iii.,  roo 
Comenius,  i.,  16,  420 
Confession  of  faith,  Faust’s,  iii., 
291/. 

Confession  des  Verfassers,  iii.,  121, 
125,  126 

Confessions  of  a Beautifnl  Soul,  ii., 
217,  238 ff.,  254,  267,  448 
Constance,  i.,  408,  439;  ii.,  105 
Constantin,  Grand  Duke,  ii.,  409 
Constitution,  Weimar,  iii.,  136/. 
Continuity,  Goethe’s  theory  of,  iii., 
109 

Contrat  Social  (Rousseau),  i.,  138 
Conversations  with  Lord  Byron 
(Medwin),  iii.,  266 
Copernicus,  iii.,  102,  273 
Corneille,  i.,  22,  79 
Cornelia,  sister  of  Tasso,  ii.,  34 
Corpus  Juris,  the,  i.,  29 
Correggio,  i.,  268,  407 
Correspondance  Litteraire  (Grimm), 

11.,  115 

Cotta,  publisher,  ii.,  317,  332,  354, 
414/;  iii.,  263,  381 
Coudenhoven,  Frau  von,  ii.,  115 
Coudray,  architect,  iii.,  165,  385 
Courland,  Duchess  of,  ii.,  4x7 
Cousin,  Victor,  ii.,  174 


Cracow,  ii.,  92,  190 
Cramer,  Councillor,  iii.,  6 
Creizenach,  W.,  iii.,  381,  384] 

Crell,  J.  C.  (Iccander),  i.,  41 
Crete,  ii.,  11 
Cronos,  iii.,  227 
Custine,  ii.,  114,  449 
Cuvier,  iii.,  110,  360 
Czenstochau,  ii.,  92 

Dalberg,  ii.,  192,  410 
d’Alembert,  i.,  iii 
Damasippus,  i.,  32 
Damoetas,  iii.,  47 
Dannecker,  ii.,  317 
Dante,  iii.,  355 
Danube,  the,  ii.,  340 
Darmstadt,  i.,  21;  Goethe  in,  143, 
167/., 184,  211,223,  228,  229,  354; 
the,  saints,  145  ff.,  168,  182; 

Goethe’s  ödes  to  them,  147;  239, 
252,  310,  421;  ii.,  184,  241;  iii., 

89 

Darmstadt,  Landgrave  of,  ii.,  128 
Daru,  ii.,  411,  412 
Darwin,  iii.,  108 ff.,  367,  378 
Das  Büchlein  von  Goethe,  ii.,  444 
Das  Glück  (Schiller),  quotation 
from,  i.,  167 

Das  Glück  der  Liehe,  i.,  425 
Das  Göttliche,  quotation  from,  ii., 
167  ; iii.,  62,  291 

Das  Jahrmarktsfest  zu  Plunders- 
weilern, i.,  146,  204,  422;  iii.,  375 
Das  Kreuz  an  der  Ostsee  (Werner), 
ü-.  35° 

Das  Lied  von  der  Glocke  (Schiller), 
iii.,  166 

Das  Mädchen  von  Oberkirch,  ii., 
12 6/.,  145.  i55.  273.  445f- 
Das  Märchen,  ii.,  128-132,  446 
Das  Nibelungenlied,  i.,  137;  iii. 
148 

Das  nussbraune  Mädchen  (in  Wil- 
helm Meisters  W ander fahre'),  iii., 
190,  192,  206/. 

Das  Pathologische  bei  Goethe  (Mö- 
bius), ii.,  452 

Das  Repertoire  des  Weimarischen 
Theaters,  etc.  (Burkhardt),  ii., 
445 

Das  römische  Karneval,  ii.,  85 
Das  Schreyen,  i.,  425 
Das  Unglück  der  Jacobis,  i.,  204 
Das  Veilchen,  iii.,  375,  376 

“ . . . dass  du,  die  so  lange  mir 
reharrt  war”  (from  Buch  Sulei- 
ka),  iii.,  14. 

David  und  Goliath,  puppet  play,  i.,38 
De  V Allemagne  (Madame  de  Stael), 
i-,  417.  434;  ü-,  443 
De  Oratore  (Cicero),  i.,  48/. 


394 


Anbei 


Death,  Goethe  expects  an  early,  i., 

356-  358..  36o>  4°8 
Dechent,  ii. , 448 

“Dedication”  {Faust),  ii.,  278;  iii., 
296.  3°5  ... 

Dehio,  G.,  iii.,  383 
Deinet,  Councillor.  i.,  147 
Delph  (Delf),  Demoiselle,  i.,  221, 
233/'.  ü-.  274,  275,  276 
Delphi,  ii.,  19 

Dem  auf  gehenden  Vollmonde,  iii., 
40,  66,  182^. ; quotation  from,  183 
Dem  31.  Oktober  1817,  iii.,  143, 
i49  f- 

Dem  Menschen  wie  den  Tieren  ist 
ein  Zwischenknochen  der  obern 
Kinnlade  zuzuschreiben,  iii.,  87 ff., 
109 

Dem  Schauspieler  Krüger,  quotation 
from,  ii.,  18;  quoted,  28 
“Dem  Wolf,  dem  tu’  ich  Esel  boh- 
ren,” i.,  225 

Dembowsky,  iii.,  379,  380 
Demetrius  (Schiller),  ii.,  193,  338 
Demonic,  the,  i.,  3,  54,  135.  327 ff- 
Den  6.  Juni  1816,  quoted,  iii.,  28 
Den  vereinigten  Staaten,  quotation 
from,  iii.,  220 

Denkwürdigkeiten  (Varnhagen),  i., 
428 

Denmark,  i.,  321;  ii.,  421 
“ Denn  solches  Los  dem  Menschen 
wie  den  Tieren  ward”  (from 
Pandora),  iii.,  110 /. 

Denon,  ii.,  344 
Der  Besuch,  iii.,  70/. 

Der  Bürgergeneral,  ii.,  123//.,  154, 

155.  273 

Der  deutsche  Merkur,  (Wieland),  i., 
176,  178,  420,  432;  ii.,  85 
“ Der  du  an  dem  Weberstuhle 
sitzest,”  iii.,  197 

“Der  du  von  dem  Himmel  bist,” 
see  Wandrers  Nachtlied 
Der  ewige  Jude,  i.,  210,  365,  410; 
ü.,  273 

Der  Falke,  i.,  365;  ii.,  x,  439/. 

Der  Fischer,  iii.,  42/.,  59,  62,  375, 
376 

Der  Freimütige  (Kotzebue  and 
Merkel),  ii.,  425 

Der  Fuchs  ohne  Schwanz  (Hagedorn), 

1.,  92 

Der  getreue  Eckart,  iii.,  58/.,  375 
Der  Goldene  Spiegel  (Wieland),  i., 
258,  311,  312;  iii.,  254 
Der  Gott  und  die  Bajadere,  ii.,  314; 

111.,  12,  19,  55,  56,  62,  63 

Der  griechische  Genius  (Schiller), 
quoted,  ii.,  313 

Der  Gross-Cophta,  i.,  404,  410;  ii., 
I2iff.,  154,  155,  273 


Der  Herr  und  der  Diener  (Moser), 

i.,  310 

Der  Herr  und  die  Magd  (folk-song), 

1.,  238 

Der  Hund  des  Aubry  de  Montdidier 
(French  melodrama),  iii.,  152 f. 
Der  Junggesell  und  der  Mühlbach, 

111.,  376 

Der  König  in  Thule,  i.,  210;  iii.,  59, 
60,  64/.,  289,  375,  376 
Der  Löwenstuhl,  iii.,  57 
Der  Mann  von  fünfzig  Jahren  (in 
Wilhelm  Meisters  W ander fahre), 
ii-,  35 3;  iü-,  19°.  *93,  2oSff. 

Der  Messias  (Klopstock),  i.,  19,  27, 
211,  285 

Der  Musensohn,  iii.,  376 
Der  neue  Pausias  und  sein  Blumen- 
mädchen, ii.,  314 
Der  Rattenfänger,  iii.,  376 
Der  Renommist  (Zachariä),  i.,  42 
Der  Sammler  und  die  S einigen,  ii., 
327,  328,  331 
Der  Sänger,  iii.,  62,  376 
Der  Schatzgräber,  ii.,  314 
“Der  Spiegel  sagt  mir:  ich  bin 
schön”  (from  Buch  der  Betrach- 
tungen in  West-östlicher  Divan), 

iii.,  31 

Der  Taucher  (Schiller),  iii.,  52 
Der  Totentanz,  i.,  3 
Der  untreue  Knabe,  i.,  3,  210;  iii., 
62,65,374 

Der  Wandrer,  i.,  100;  iii.,  47,  65,  71 
Der  Zauberflöte  zweiter  Teil,  ii., 
321 

Der  Zauberlehrling,  ii.,  314;  iü-,  64 
Derones,  i.,  22 f.,  39,  421 
Des  Epimenides  Erwachen,  ii.,  434/., 
454 

Des  Kiuiben  Wunderhorn  (Arnim 
and  Brentano),  iii.,  145,  148 
Des  Künstlers  Vergötterung,  i.,  206 
“Des  Menschen,  der  in  aller  Welt” 
(from  original  Version  of  Jägers 
Abendlied),  ii.,  2;  iii.,  45 
Des  Sängers  Fluch  (Uhland),  iii..  52 
Des  teut sehen  Burschen  fliegende 
Blätter  (Fries),  iii.,  137 
Descent,  the  theory  of,  iii.,  105 ff., 


Deutsche  Geschickte,  etc.  (Häusser), 
ü-,  445 

Deutsche  Schaubühne  (Gottsched), 

i.,  38 

Deutschordenshof  (Das  deutsche 
Haus),  i.,  160,  161,  162,  166 
Devrient,  O.,  iii.,  384 
Dialect,  Goethe’s,  i.,  44 
Dialogues  (Galileo),  iii.,  360 
Dialogues  (Plato),  ii.,  206 


Anbei  395 


Diamond  Necklace,  The  (Carlyle),  i., 
366 

Diamond  necklace  intrigue,  the,  i., 
366,  404 ; ii. , 121  /. 

Diana,  ii.,  3/.,  6,  7,  17,  19,  25,  159 
Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  i.,  39,  77, 
80,  133,  139,  216/.,  221,  222 f., 
232/.,  251,  25t,  327;  ii.,  161,  167, 
272,  280,  415,  417/,  432,  446, 
448;  iii. , 8,  10,  31  ff.,  82,  84,  172, 
264, 359 

Dictionnaire  Historique  et  Critique 
(Bayle),  i.,  421;  ii.,  157 
Diderot,  i.,  in,  120 
Diderots  Versuch  über  die  Malerei, 

111.,  378 

Die  Aufgeregten,  ii.,  125 f.,  147,  155, 
273 

Die  Bedeutung  der  Magie  und  Sorge 
in  Goethes  Faust  (Türck),  iii.,  383 
Die  Befreiung  des  Prometheus,  ii., 
391 

Die  Bekehrte,  iii.,  376 
Die  Braut  von  Korinth,  ii.,  314;  iii-, 
53,  56.  62 /.,  65;  quotation  from, 
72 

Die  Braut  von  Messina  (Schiller), 

1.,  400 

Die  Bühnengeschichte  des  Goethesch- 
en  Faust  (Creizenach),  iii.,  384 
Die  Bürgschaft  (Schiller),  i.,  400 
Die  deutschen  Mächte  und  der 
Fürstenbund  (Ranke),  i.,  436 
Die  deutschen  Universitäten  (Lexis), 

111.,  97 

Die  drei  ältesten  Bearbeitungen  von 
Goethes  Iphigenie  (Düntzer),  ii., 

441 

Die  erste  Walpurgisnacht,  i.,  3; 
hi.,  53/-.  63.  375 

Die  Faultiere  und  die  Dickhäutigen, 

iii.,  107 

Die  Fischerin,  i.,  265;  iii.,  59,  374 
Die  Freuden,  iii.,  374 
Die  gefährliche  Wette  (in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderfahre),  ii.,  353; 

111.,  190 

Die  Geheimnisse,  i.,  307,  364,  410; 

quotation  from,  ii.,  165;  273 
Die  geistigen  und  sozialen  Strö- 
mungen des  19.  Jahrhunderts 
(Ziegler),  ii.,  447 

Die  Geschwister,  i.,  302  ; ii.,  1,  2,  213, 
272 ; iii.,  12 

Die  glücklichen  Gatten,  ii.,  452 
Die  Götter  Griechenlands  (Schiller), 

11.,  206 

Die  Hexenküche,  see  “Witches’ 
Kitchen” 

Die  Höllenfahrt  Christi,  i. , 3 7 
Die  Horen  (Schiller),  ii.,  206,  207, 
3i7 


Die  Huldigung  der  Künste  (Schiller), 
ü->  337 

Die  Jagd,  iii.,  172 
Die  Jäger  (Iffland),  ii.,  98 
Die  Kindermörderin  (Wagner),  i., 
122 

Die  klassische  Walpurgisnacht  (Val- 
entin), iii.,  383 

Die  Kritik  der  praktischen  Vernunft 

(Kant),  ii.,  172;  iii.,  205/. 

Die  Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft 
(Kant),  ii.,  1 72,  1 73 
Die  Kritik  der  Urteilskraft  (Kant), 

11.,  172,  177,  180,  196;  iii.,  101, 
102 

Die  Laune  des  Verliebten,  i.,  39,  54, 
57,  81/.,  85,  244,  423/. ; ii.,  272 
Die  Lehrjahre,  see  Wilhelm  Meisters 
Lehrjahre 

Die  Leiden  des  jungen  Werther,  i., 
55,  78,  152,  155,  156,  157,  160/., 
182-202,  203,  204,  214,  237,  238, 
252,  260,  312,  338,  340, 350, 366, 
412,  429/.,  430,  431/.;  ii.,  61,  62 
140,  162,  184,  211/.,  214,  259, 
264,  267,  272,  309,  380,  383,  41  if., 
453  ! iü-.  4°.  161,  165,  257 
Die  letzte  Krankheit  Goethes  (Vogel), 

111.,  384/. 

Die  Liebe  des  Vaterlands  (Sonnen- 
fels), i.,  150 

Die  Liebende  schreibt,  iii.,  375 
Die  Luisenburg  bei  Alexandersbad, 

iii.,  114 

Die  Metamorphose,  etc.,  see  Ver- 
such, die  Metamorphose,  etc. 

Die  Mitschuldigen,  i.,  77,  80,  81, 
82 ff.,  424/. ; ii.,  272 
“Die  Nachtigal,  sie  war  entfernt” 
{Ländlich),  iii.,  375 
Die  Natur,  see  Fragment  über  die 
Natur 

Die  -natürliche  Tochter,  ii.,  132-146, 
154,  273,  332,  446,  452 
Die  neue  Melusine  (in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre),  i.,  125, 
i34/-;  ü-.  35 3;  iü-.  19°.  217 ff- 
Die  Noachide  (Bodmer),  i.,  74 
Die  Oster  Szenen  und  die  Vertrags- 
szene in  Faust  (Niejahr),  iii.,  382 
Die  pilgernde  Törin  (in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre),  ii.,  353; 

iii.,  190,  201/.,  203 
Die  politische  Korrespondenz  Karl 
Friedrichs  von  Baden  (Erdmanns- 
dörffer),  i.,  436 

Die  Räuber  (Schiller),  ii.,  31,  183, 
185,  191 

Die  Reliquie,  i.,  425 
Die  romantische  Schule  (Haym),  iii., 
378/. 

Die  schäm  Nacht,  iii.,  373,  376 


396 


Unfrei 


Die  Skelette  der  Nagetiere , iii. , 107 
Die  Söhne  des  Tals  (Werner),  ii., 
35° 

Die  Spröde , iii.,  376 
Die  vier  Haimonskinder  (populär 
tale),  i.,  222 

Die  Vögel,  i.,  325;  ii.,  426 
Die  Wahlverwandtschaften,  ii.,  272, 
347-387,  388-  39°.  404,  415- 

451,  452;  ui.,  8,  146,  191,  230, 
231,  256,  264 

Die  Walpurgisnacht  im  ersten  Teile 
von  Goethes  Faust  (Witkowski), 

111.,  299 

Die  Wanderjahre,  see  Wilhelm 
Meisters  W ander jahre 
Die  Wette,  ii.,  419 
Die  Zauberflöte  (Mozart),  ii.,  286, 
321 

Dieburg,  i.,  310 
Diede,  ii.,  451 
Diersburg,  iii.,  26 
“Dies  zu  deuten  bin  erbötig” 
(from  Buch  Suleikaj,  iii.,  20 
“Dieses  ist  das  Bild  der  Welt,”  i., 
.37 

Diezmann,  1.,  434;  11.,  444 
Diner  zu  Koblenz,  i.,  206 
Dionysus,  ii.,  398 

“Directeur  des  plaisirs,”  Goethe  a, 

1.,  316 

“Dismal  Day — A Field,  ” scene  in 
Faust,  see  “Dreary  Day — A 
Field” 

Dissertation,  Goethe’s  doctor’s,  i., 
102,  138/.,  141 
Divan  (Hafiz),  iii.,  2 
“ Doch  im  Innern  scheint  ein  Geist 
gewaltig  zu  ringen”  (from  Meta- 
morphose der  Tiere),  ii.  160; 

111.,  in 

Doctor,  Goethe  a licentiate  in  law 
instead  of  a,  i.,  138 
Doctor  Faust  (folk-book),  i.,  76; 
see  Doktor  Faust 

Doctor  Faustus,  The  Tragical  His- 
tory  of  (Marlowe),  iii.,  271/.,  273, 
275.  381 

Doctor  Marianus,  in  Faust,  iii.,  332 
Dodd,  i.,  79 

Doge,  the,  of  Venice,  i.,  374; iii.,  20 

Dohm,  i.,  437;  ii.,  115 

Doktor  Faust  (puppet  play),  iii., 

25  iff- 

Dole,  the,  i.,  349 
Dölitz,  i , 70 
Dolmetsch,  i.,  21 

Don  Carlos  (Schiller),  ii.,  185,  191, 
192 

Don  Juan,  i.,  242 

Don  Quixote  (Cervantes),  i.,  263 

Donatello,  i.,  373 


Doric  style,  i.,  396 
Domburg,  iii.,  66,  182 
Dorothea,  heroine  of  Hermann  und 
Dorothea,  ii.,  280 ff.,  449,  450 
Dörfchen,  character  in  Die  Fisch- 
erin, iii.,  60 

D’Orville,  J.  G.,  i.,  220;  ii.,  279;  iii., 

17 

Drakendorf,  ii.,  387 
Dramatischer  Nachlass  von  Lenz 
(Weinhold),  i.,  435 
Drawing,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  16, 
30,  70/.,  167;  his  collection  of 
drawings,  iii.,  163 

“Dreary  Day — A Field,”  scene  in 
Faust,  iii.,  261,  283,  298,  300/. 
Dresden,  i.,  41,  65;  Goethe  in,  71  f., 
122,  162,  and  ii.,  93,  416,  432; 

1.,  268,  424;  ii.,  183,  385,  431,  445; 

111.,  161,  384 

Dritte  Wallfahrt  nach  Erwins  Grabe, 

1.,  228 

Drollinger,  i.,  33 
Drusenheim,  i.,  124 
“ Du  hast  es  lange  genug  getrieben  ” 
( W .,  v1.,  182),  iii.,  139 
“ Du  versuchst,  o Sonne,  vergebens” 
( Den  6.  Juni  1816),  iii.,  28 
Dumouriez,  ii.,  116 
“Dumpfheit,”  Goethe’s,  i.,  3,  6, 
344,  418;  iii.,  46 

Düntzer,  i.,  421,  430,  435;  ii.,  441, 
444.  445-  448,  449:  ii*-.  I37.  383 
Dürckheim  see  Türckheim 
Dürer,  ii.,  327,  450;  iii.,  147 
Düsseldorf,  i.,  207/.,  310;  ii.,  114/-. 
116,  326 

Dutch  art,  i.,  71,  75,  162 ; ii.,115 
Dyk,  ii.,  433 

Earth-Spirit,  the,  in  Faust,  iii.,  32, 
255.  275,  278 ff.,  284,  313,  335, 
382 

Ebers,  ii.,  444 
Eberwein,  iii.,  376 
Eckermann,  i.,  272,  434;  ii.,  35,  272, 
277.  379.  44i.  447.  452;  iü-.  78. 
91,  107,  113,  117 /.,  131,  164/., 
168,  175,  181,  185,  186,  193,  243. 
266/.,  338/.,  359,  363,  374.  379. 
382 

Eckhof,  i.,  257 
Edda,  the,  i.,  115 

“Edel  sei  der  Mensch”  (from  Das 
Göttliche),  ii.,  167 
Edelsheim,  von,  i,  310.  437 
Edgar,  character  in  Shakespeare ’s 
King  Lear,  i.,  13 1 
Edinburg,  iii.,  174 
Eduard,  character  in  Die  Wahlver- 
wandtschaften, i.,  192;  ii.,  355^., 
452 


Infcei 


397 


Eger,  iii.,  113 
Egeria,  ii.,  115;  iii.,  144 
Egle,  character  in  Die  Laune  des 
Verliebten , i.,  81/. 

Egloiistein,  Henriette  von,  ii.,  276, 
278,  331,  444 

Egloffstein,  Karoline,  iii.,  167 
Egmont,  hero  of  the  drama,  i.,  231, 
234,  327 ff-'-  üi-.  64 
Egmont , i.,  232,  245,  270,  327-336, 
364,  403,  4°4.  4io,  437;  ii.,  6,  31, 
37.  I54,  159.  272;  iii-,  257,  329, 
375,  383 

Egoist,  Goethe  not  an,  11.,  106,  108, 
187,  200 

Egypt,  i.,  394;  iii.,  338 
Ehrenbreitstein,  i.,  188,  310 
Ehrlen,  Dean,  i.,  138 
“ Ehrlicher  Mann  ” (from  Drei  Oden 
an  meinen  Freund  Behrisch),  i., 
66/. 

Eichendorff,  iii.,  79 
Eichhorn,  iii.,  16 
Eichstädt,  ii.,  336 
Ein  Jahrhundert  chemischer  For- 
schung■,  etc.  (Hofmann),  ii.,  451 
Eine  Faustouvertüre  (Wagner),  iii., 
376 

“Eine  Liebe  hatt  ich,”  etc., 
Venezianische  Epigramme,  No. 
7),  ii.,  81 

Eine  neue  Faust-Erklärung  (Türck), 

111.,  57,  383 

“Einer  einzigen  angehören”  ( Zwis- 
chen beiden  Welten),  iii.,  184 
Einfache  Nachahmung  der  Natur, 
Manier,  Stil,  ii.,  85,  100 
Einlass,  quotation  from,  ii.,  387 
Einleitung  in  die  Propyläen,  iii.,  99 
Einleitung  und  Erläuterung  zu 
Goethes  Hermann  und  Dorothea 
(Cholevius),  ii.,  450 
Einleitung  zu  einer  allgemeinen 
Vergleichungslehre,  iii.,  102 
Einleitung  zur  Naturphilosophie 
(Schelling),  ii.,  324 
Eins  und  Alles,  quotation  from, 

11.,  164;  iii.,  62;  quotation  from, 
106 

Einschränkung,  iii.,  46 
Einsiedel,  Hildebrand  von,  i.,  261/., 
264,  266,  281,  435;  ii-,  85,  444; 

111.,  258 

Einsiedel,  Lieutenant  von,  i.,  264 
Einsiedeln,  i.,  266/.,  430;  ii.,  317 
Einwirkung  der  neueren  Philosophie, 

iii.,  101,  377 

Eisenach,  i.,  261,  313,  342,  360, 
389,  435 

Elbe,  the,  ii.,  416,  425 
Elberfeld,  i.,  209 
Elbingerode,  i.,  338 


Elective  affinities,  ii.,  355#. 

Electra,  ii.,  15 
Elegie,  see  Marienbad  Elegie 
Elfriede  (Bertuch),  i.,  263 
Eliezer,  i.,  96 

Elizabeth,  character  in  Götz,  i., 
W9 

Elpenor,  i.,  364;  ii.,  1,  273,  440 
Elsheimer,  i.,  267 
Elvira,  i.,  243 

Elysium,  i.,  26,  45,  146,  147 
Elysium,  i.,  147;  iii.,  47 
Emerson,  i.,  417 
Emile  (Rousseau),  iii.,  227 
Emilia  Galotti,  ii.,  376 
Emilia  Galotti  (Lessing),  i.,  178, 
238 

Emmaus,  i.,  212 
Emmendingen,  i.,  182,  224,  347 
Emperor,  the,  character  in  Faust, 
iü-,  33 2ff->  343/?-.  353 
Empiricism,  Goethe’s,  i.,  94,  151 
Ems,  i.,  204 ff.,  210;  ii.,  79 
Encyclopedists,  the,  i.,  119 
Engelbach,  i.,  98,  100 
England,  i.,  110;  ii.,  340,  421,  4241 

iii.,  169,  174,  199,  215,  242 
English,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  16, 
30,  79,  115#.  . 

Engraving,  Goethe  s study  of,  1., 
167;  his  collection  of  engra vings, 

iii.,  163 

Ense,  see  Vamhagen 
Ensisheim,  i.,  139 

Entelechy,  Goethe’s  use  of,  ii., 
171/. 

Eos,  ii.,  398,  401,  402 
Ephemerides,  i.,  423 ; quotation  from, 

111.,  84 

Epictetus,  i.,  29 
Epicurus,  ii.,  386 

EpikurischGlaubensbekenntnis  Heinz 
Widerporstens  (Schelling),  ii.,  447 
Epilog  zu  Schillers  “ Glocke ,”  quo- 
tations  from,  ii.,  194,  337;  338; 
last  lines  of,  iii.,  369 
Epilog  zum  Trauerspiele  Essex,  ii., 
433 

Epimeleia,  character  in  Pandora, 

11.,  394 ff. 

Epimenides,  hero  of  Des  Epimenides 
Erwachen,  ii.,  434/-.  454 
Epimetheus,  character  in  Pandora, 
^ ü-,  39Q#. 

Epoche,  ii.,  351  /. 

Epoques  de  la  Nature  (Buffon),  i., 
3°8 

Erdbeschreibung,  etc.  (Leonhard  i), 

1.,  435 

Erdkühlein  (Erdkülin,  Erdtulin), 

i.,  279 

Erdmannsdörffer,  1.,  436 


398 


Inber 


Erfurt,  i.,  41,  273,  280,  418;  ii., 
99,  150;  Congress  of,  i.,  201,  and 

11.,  408-414,  420,  428,  433;  iii. , 4 
Ergo  Bibamus,  iii.,  52,  376 
“Erhabne  Grossmama,”  etc.,  i.,422 
“ Erhabner  Geist,”  etc.  (from  “For- 
est and  Cavern”  in  Faust),  iii., 
132 /• 

“ Erhabner  Grosspapa,”  etc.,  i.,  422 
Erich,  polyhistor,  ii.,  335 
Eridon,  character  in  Die  Laune  des 
Verliebten,  i.,  57,  81/.,  244,  424 
Erie  Canal,  the,  iii.,  174 
Erlangen,  ii.,  276 

Erläuterungen  zu  Hermann  und 
Dorothea  (Düntzer),  ii.,  449 
Erl-King,  the,  iii.,  59 
Erlkönig,  i.,  3,  265;  iii.,  59/.,  374, 
375.  376 

Erlkönigs  Tochter  (in  Herder’s 
Volkslieder),  iii.,  59 
Ernesti,  branch  of  the  Saxon  dy- 
nasty,  i.,  314,  322 
Ernesti,  professor,  i.,  48/.,  164 
Eros,  ii.,  399 

Erster  Entwurf  einer  allgemeinen 
Einleitung  in  die  vergleichende 
Anatomie,  etc.,  iii.,  85,  104/. 
Erster  Verlust,  iii.,  376 
Ervinus  ä Steinbach,  i.,  104 ff.\  ii., 
446 ; iii.,  147,  250 

Erwin  und  Elmire,  i.,  207,  245,  404, 
410 

Erzbischof  Ernst  (Vischer),  ii.,  327 
Erzgebirge,  the,  i.,  367 
“Es  ist  nichts  in  der  Haut,”  iii.,  83 
“Es  schlug  mein  Herz — geschwind 
zu  Pferde”  (from  Willkommen 
und  Abschied),  i.,  127/. 

“Es  war  ein  Bule  frech  genung,” 
see  Der  untreue  Knabe 
“Es  war  ein  fauler  Schäfer,”  iii., 

376 

“Es  war  eine  Ratt’  im  Kellemest” 
(from  Faust),  iii.,  376 
“Es  war  einmal  ein  König”  (from 
Faust),  iii.,  376 
Eschenburg,  i.,  157,  199 
Esenbeck,  Nees  von,  iii.,  377 
Etain,  ii.,  1 13 

Etching,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  68/., 
88,  167  ; bis  Collection  of  etchings, 

111.,  163 

Etemal-Womanly,  the,  in  Faust, 

iii.,  288,  297,  303,  342 
Ethica  (Spinoza),  i.,  208,  308;  ii., 
158,  168,  169,  170,  447;  iii.,  84, 

377 

Ettersberg,  the,  i.,  338;  iii.,  36 
Ettersburg,  i.,  258,  318,  417,  424 
Eudemonism,  ii.,  176 
Eudora,  character  in  Satyros,  i.,  250 


Eugenie,  character  in  Die  natürliche 
Tochter,  ii.,  133#-.  137 /•.  446 
Eulengebirge,  the,  ii.,  90 
Euphorion,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 
267 /■.  339 ff->  353 
Euphrates,  the,  iii.,  19 
Euphrosyne,  ii.,  96 ff.,  318;  iii.,  66 
Euripides,  ii.,  3,  5,  12,  16,  19,  22, 
440;  iii.,  360 

Europe,  i.,  310,  366,  373;  ii.,  27, 
92,  103,  105,  112,  113,  132,  151, 
172,  190,  316,  340,  410,  411,  414, 
424;  iii.,  2,  4,  135 /-.  J43.  144.  199. 
221,  267,  268,  337 
Eutin,  iii.,  62/. 

Evolution,  Goethe’s  idea  of,  iii., 
95  ff-,  100/.,  104 

Eybenberg,  Marianne  von,  ii.,  416 
Eyes,  colour  of  Goethe’s,  i.,  15,  420 

Fahlmer,  Johanna,  i.,  187,  207,  221, 
224,  240,  241,  285,  296,  347,  431 
Fair,  in  Frankfort,  i.,  20,  141,  221, 
231 ; in  Leipsic,  45.  57 
Falcke,  i.,  157 
Falk,  i.,  420;  ii.,  408/. 

Fatime,  amoebseum  between  Ali 
and,  i.,  247 

Faust,  the  historical  and  legendary, 

1.,  45,  142,  170,  183,  420;  iii., 
271  /■,  295 

Faust,  hero  of  the  folk-book,  iii., 
2 73/- 

Faust,  hero  of  the  puppet  play,  iii., 

251/- 

Faust,  hero  of  Goethe’s  drama,  i., 
2,  6,  80,  342  ; ii.,  253  ; iii.,  45,  132, 
248 ff.,  382,  383,  384 
Faust,  i.,  3;  Goethe’s  experiences 
reflectedin.,  18,  93,  118,  136, and 

11.,  278,  and  iii.,  247 ff.;  history  of 
the  composition  of,  i.,  142,  202, 
204,  210,  211,  239,  245,  364.  403. 
410,  and  ii.,  85,  333,  and  iii., 
247 ff.\  verse  form  of,  ii.,  29,  and 

111.,  304/.,  339;  reception  of,  ii., 
203,  309,  and  iii.,  257//.,  270, 
357/;.  discussion  of,  247-358; 
music  to,  375,  376;  notes  on, 
381//. ; on  the  stage,  384;  other 
references,  i.,  144,  438,  and  ii., 
2,  128,  147,  158,  272,  360,  392, 
452,  and  iii.,  32,  34,  67,  132/., 
146,  165,  171,  246, 359, 367, 380; 
see  also  Faust,  ein  Fragment  and 
Urfaust 

Faust  (Gounod),  iii.,  376 
Faust,  ein  Fragment,  ii.,  85;  iii., 
260/.,  275-296,  313,  319,  320,  382 
Faust,  ein  musikalisches  Charak- 
terbild für  Orchester  (Rubinstein), 

iii.,  376 


Unfrei 


399 


Faust-Symphonie  (Liszt),  iii.,  376 
Faustina,  i.,  406,  439 
Faustina,  antique  bust  of,  i.,  438 
Fayel.character  in  Goue’s  Masuren, 

1.,  187 

Federigo,  character  in  Der  Falke, 
ii-,  439 

Felix,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meister, 

11 . , 242,  249,  250^.,  261,  394, 

448/.;  iii.,  196,  199,  207,  212, 

223/.,  231/. 

Felsweihegesang,  i.,  147;  iii.,  47 
Ferdinand,  Duke  of  Brunswick,  ii., 
in,  1 1 2,  342 

Ferdinand,  character  in  Egmont,  i., 
33 1 , 33s 

Ferdinand  (Fritz  Stolberg  [?] ),  i., 
431 

Fernando,  character  in  Stella,  i., 
192,  222,  240,  242 ff.,  433;  ii.,  378 
Fernow,  ii.,  453 

Ferrara,  i.,  381;  ii.,  34/.,  38 ff.,  442, 
443 

Festschrift  des  Hochstifts,  ii.,  451 
Festschrift  zum  Neuphilologentage 
(1892),  i.,  430 
Feti,  Domenico,  i.,  423 
“Fetter  grüne,  du  Laub”  (from 
Herbstgefühl) , iii.,  49/. 
Feuerkugel,  the,  in  Leipsic,  i.,  45 
Fichte,  ii.,  140,  150,  179/.,  202, 
423;  iii.,  143/.,  229,  231,  244,  317, 
337 

Fielding,  ii.,  259 
Fielitz,  i.,  434/. 

Fiesco  (Schiller),  ii.,  185 

Final  causes,  iii.,  102 

Fischer,  Kuno,  ii.,  18,  442;  iii., 

381/ 

Fiske,  John,  iii.,  310 
Flachsland,  Karoline,  see  Herder 
Flavio,  character  in  Der  Mann  von 
fünfzig  Jahren,  iii.,  208 ff.,  223 
Fleischer,  i,  40 

Florence,  i.,  381  402,  407,  437; 

ii.,  37,  42/if.,  416;  iii.,  186 
Flüelen,  i.,  22  7 ; ii.,  318 
Foligno,  i.,  382 

Folk-poetry,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i., 
16,  109,  114/.,  117/.;  iii.,  47 
Fonseca,  Wollheim  da,  iii.,  384 
“Forest  and  Cavern,”  scene  in 
Faust,  iii.,  132 /.,  260,  261,  275, 
282 ff.,  293,  294,  314,  382 
Förster,  Friedrich,  i.,  69 
Förster,  Georg,  ii.,  109,  119 
Fossiler  Stier,  iii.,  108 
Fossils,  Goethe  appreciates  the 
significance  of,  iii.,  114/. ; his 
collection  of,  163 
Fouque,  ii.,  429 
Fourier,  iii.,  192 


Fragment,  see  Faust,  ein  Fragment 
Fragment  über  die  Natur,  ii.,  447; 
quotations  from,  158,  159,  160, 
and  iii.,  85 ; 126 

Fragmente  über  die  neuere  deutsche 
Literatur  (Herder),  i.,  112 
France,  i.,  11,  24,  94,  97,  110,  iii, 
119/.,  122,  137/.,  140,  311,  419, 
43°;  11-,  102  ff.,  109  ff.,  126,  132, 
142,  145,  146,  147,  151,  190, 
191/.,  199,  217,  275,  302,  318/., 
34off.,  408,  41 5 ; Empress  of,  418; 
421,  423,  428;  iii.,  140,  170; 
174,  261,  332,  344,  360 
Frangois  de  Theas,  Comte  de  Tho- 
ranc  (Schubart),  i.,  420 
Franconia,  i.,  9,  314 
Franken  zur  griechischen  Literatur, 
Goethe’s  review  of,  i.,  150 
Frankenberg,  i.,  393 
Frankfort-on-the-Main,  i.,  8 ff.,  14, 
2iff.,  40,  43,  45,  52,  70,  81,  82, 
89,  90,  91,  94,  96,  102,  103,  122, 
J33.  i38,  140,  141.  i43.  152 /-, 
161,  167,  168,  171,  182,  183, 

185,  188,  200,  204,  205,  207, 

211  ff.,  216 ff.,  221  ff.,  229,  230, 
232,  234,  235 ff.,  241,  254,  255, 
273/.,  276,  296,  309,  329,  344, 
354,  36°,  376>  389,  4io,  418/., 
421,  423,  424,  428,  429,  430, 

432;  ii.,  85,  89,  93,  105 ff.,  114, 

118,  119,  212,  213,  241,  276, 281, 
3°8,  314 ff-,  320,  4io;  üi-,  5-  8 ff-, 
11,  13,  17,  19,  25,  26,  29,  64, 
154,  179,  186,  248,  249,  270,  271 
Frankfurter  gelehrte  Anzeigen,  i., 
147 ff.,  163,  176,  180,  204,  423 
Franz  I.,  Emperor  of  Austria,  ii., 
418 

Franz  I.,  Emperor  of  Holy  Roman 
Empire,  i.,  24 
Franz,  Robert,  iii.,  374/. 

Franz,  character  in  Götz.  i.,  171,172, 
179,  180;  iii.,  61 

Franz  Sternbalds  Wanderungen 
(Tieck),  iii.,  146 

“Franztum  drängt  in  diesen  ver- 
worrenen Tagen”  (from  Herbst), 
ü-,  153 

Frascati,  i.,  438 

Frauenbilder  aus  Goethes  Jugend- 
zeit (Düntzer),  i.,  430 
Frauenplan,  the,  in  Weimar,  i., 
359;  ii.,  318;  iii.,  136 
Frauenstein,  house  of,  i.,  8 
Frederick  II.,  the  Great,  i.,  9,  20, 
107,  177,  256,  259,  267, 323,  324, 
325,  437;  ii.,  348,  422,  425 
Frederick  William  II.,  ii.,  425 
Frederick  William  III.,  ii.,  425,  426, 
432, 434 


400 


Undex 


Freedom  of  the  press,  in  Weimar, 
iii-.  x37 

Freiberg,  ii. , 416 
Freiburg,  ii.,  90 

Freie  Deutsche  Hochstift,  das,  i.,  421 
French,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  16, 
19,  22/.,  30,  39,  55,  79 
French  revolution,  the,  ii.,  102/f., 
118,  120,  121-155,  193,  204,  208, 
217  ; iii. , 214,  261,  271 
“Freudvoll  und  leidvoll,”  (song 
in  Egmont),  iii.,  375,  376 
Freundschaft  und  Liehe  auf  der 
Probe  (Wieland),  ii.,  451 
Freytag,  Gustav,  iii.,  241 
Friedberg,  ii.,  308 
Friedeberg,  ii.,  93 
Friederike,  see  Friederike  Brion 
Friederikens  Ruhe,  i.,  125 
Friedrich,  Goethe’s  servant,  iii.,  164 
Friedrich,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  ii.,  247;  iii.,  202,  216, 
222 

Friedrich  Eugen,  Duke  of  Würtem- 
berg,  i.,  52 

Friedrich  L.  Graf  zu  Stoiber g (Jans- 
sen),  i.,  430,  431 
Fries,  Professor,  iii.,  137 
Fritsch,  Minister  von,  of  Saxony, 

i.,  261,  289 

Fritsch,  Minister  von,  of  Weimar, 

i.,  259,  260/.,  280,  289 ff.,  312/., 
3 1 7»  435;  ü-.  35.  442 
Fritz,  i.,  426 
Fritz,  Old,  ii.,  125 
Froitzheim,  i.,  419,  426/. 
Frommann,  bookseller,  ii.,  349/., 
416;  iii.,  145 

Frommann,  Frau,  ii.,  349 /.,  416, 
451;  iii.,  140 

Frühzeitiger  Frühling,  iii.,  375,  376 
Fulda,  i.,  41 ; Abbot  of,  in  Götz,  179 
“Füllest  wieder  Busch  und  Tal,” 
see  An  den  Mond 

Fundamenta  Botanica  (Linne),  iii., 
106 

Furca,  the,  i.,  352 ii.,  318 
Fürstenberg,  Baron  von,  ii.,  117 
Fürstenhaus,  the,  in  Weimar,  i.,  271 

Gagem,  Baron  von,  ii.,  120 

Galatea,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 

„ 337.  33.8 

Galicia,  ii.,  92 

Galilee,  Sea  of,  i.,  401 

Galileo,  iii.,  360 

Gallitzin,  Princess,  ii.,  r 167. 

Ganges,  the,  iii.,  55 

Ganymed,  iii.,  47,  291 

“Ganz,”  i.,  409,  439 

“Gap,”  the, in  Faust, iii.,  296,  31 zff. 

Garbenheim,  i.,  155,  156,  157,  162 


Gartenhaus,  Goethe’s,  i.,  279,  297, 
359;  ii.,  182;  iii.,  40,  136 
Garve,  ii.,  91,  445 
Gattamelata,  statue  of,  i.,  373 
“Geb’  Euch  Gott  allen  guten  Se- 
gen,” (from  An  den  Herzog  Karl 
August),  i.,  283 

“Gedichte  sind  gemalte  Fenster- 
scheiben,” iii.,  37 

Gedichte  voneinem  polnischen  Juden, 
Goethe’s  review  of,  i.,  148/.,  163 
Gefunden,  iii.,  62,  376 
“Geh’  ich  hier,  sie  kommt  heran” 
(from  “Wenn  ich  auf  dem 
Markte  geh’  ”),  iii.,  156 
Geheimes,  iii.,  375 
Geistesgruss,  i.,  206;  iii.,  376 
Geliert,  i.,  49,  50,  67,  77,  88,  425/. 
Generalbeichte,  iii.,  51 
Geneva,  i.,  349/.,  431;  iii-,  165, 
192 

Genius,  die  Büste  der  Natur  enthül- 
lend, iii.,  8 sf. 

Genius,  in  Wanderers  Sturmlied, 

111.,  61;  see  also  i.,  106,  108,  122, 

136,  292 
Genoa,  iii.,  186 

Genoveva,  Leben  und  Tod  der 
heiligen  (Tieck),  iii.,  144 
Gentz,  iii.,  150 

Geographisch-historische  Beschrei- 
bung merkwürdiger  Städte,  i.,  433 
Geography,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i., 
16,  and  iii.,  173 

Geologische  Probleme  und  Versuch 
ihrer  Auflösung,  iii.,  378 
Geology,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  308, 
361,  382,  396,  408,  and  iii.,  15, 
109,  112/f.,  175,  378;  see  Neptun- 
ist and  Vulcanist. 

Georg,  character  in  Götz, i.,  179, 180 
George,  landlord’s  son  at  Drusen- 
heim, i.,  124 

Gerbermühle,  the,  iii.,  12,  17 ff.,  25, 
27,  161 

German,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  18, 
19,  30,  49/.,  7 3#.,  137 
German  Confederation,  the,  i.,  272; 

11.,  434;  iii.,  141,  154 
Germany,  i.,  24,  30,  106/.,  255,  267, 

272.  273.  30I> 3I0> 322,  324. 326, 
366,  369,  374,  418,  433,  437; 

ii.,  27,  77,  87,  94,  104,  122,  124, 
128,  149,  152,  172,  204, 208, 274, 
304,  314,  3i5>  339.  34i.  393.  408/., 
410,  421,  423,  427,  428,  429,  430, 
432,  434.  449 5 iü-.  4.  55-  94.  135- 

137,  138,  142,  143.  I54,  170.  W4. 
181,  199,  227,  229,  240 ff.,  244, 
361,  367/.,  384 

Gerock,  Antoinette,  i.,  167,  183 
Gerstenberg,  i.,  49,  431 


Hnöei 


401 


Gesang  der  Geister  über  den  Wassern, 
i-,  348;  iii-,  375 

Gesang  der  Parzen  (from  Iphigenie), 
iü-»  375 

Geschichte  der  Königl.  Preuss.  Akad. 

d.  Wiss.  (Harnack),  ii.,  453 
Geschichte  der  Pädagogik  (Raumer), 
iii.,  380 

Geschichte  des  Abfalls  der  Nieder- 
lande (Schiller),  ii.,  185 
Geschichte  des  deutschen  Reiches 
(Kotzebue),  iii.,  139 
Geschichte  des  Eisass  (Lorenz-Sche- 
rer), ii.,  453 

Geschichte  Gottfriedens  von  Berli- 
chingen  mit  der  eisernen  Hand 
dramatisiert,  i.,  142, 170;  iii.,  253 /. 
Geschichte  meines  botanischen  Studi- 
ums, iii.,  105/. 

Geschichte  seiner  ( meiner ) bota- 
nischen Studien,  iii.,  98 
Gesellige  Lieder,  ii.,  331;  iii.,  51/. 
Gesellschaft  der  schönen  Wissen- 
schaften in  Strasburg,  i.,  426 
Gesner,  i.,  30,  421 
Gespräche  mit  Goethe  (Eckermann), 
quotations  from,  ii.,  441,  and 
iii.,  107,  113,  168,  382;  character 
of,  164;  ii.,  452;  iii.,  91,  118,  131, 


374,  379 
Gessler,  ii.,  318 
Gessner,  i.,  49 

“Gewiss,  ich  wäre  schon  so  ferne” 
( An  Frau  von  Stein),  i.,  363 
Gianini,  Countess,  i.,  266 
Gickelhahn,  the,  iii.,  362 
Giessen,  i.,  11,  152,  164 
Gilbert,  i.,  259 

Gingo  biloba J (in  Buch  Suleika), 
iii..  24 

Giotto,  i.,  373;  ii.,  88 
Giovanna,  character  in  Der  Falke, 
ü-,  439/- 
Girgenti,  i.,  399 

Glaciers,  Goethe’s  theory  of,  iii., 
115 

Glatz,  county  of,  ii.,  92 
Gleim,  i.,  49,  78,  259,  420;  ii.,  208 
Gluck,  i.,  303,  435;  iii.,  374 
Glückliche  Fahrt,  iii.,  375,  376 
Glück  der  Entfernung,  i.,  425;  iii., 
„ 373 

Glück  und  Traum,  iii.,  373 
Gmelin,  iii.,  25 

Göchhausen,  Luise  von,  i.,  264; 
saves  the  Urfaust,  264,  and  iii., 
258,  381;  saves  Annette,  i.,  264, 
425;  281,  435;  ii.,  85 
Göchhausen,  Major  von,  iii.,  381 
Göcking,  ii.,  270,  449 
Gödeke,  ii.,  445 
Goebel,  J.,  i.,  78,  427,  435 


VOL.  III — 26 


Goecke,  i.,  428 

Goertz,  see  Görtz 

Goethe,  August  von,  ii.,  82,  83,  86, 
314/-,  3I9,  329,  333,  345,  354,  433: 
iü-,  156,  157,  159,  165,  185#., 
269,  361 

Goethe,  Christiane  von  ( nee  Vul- 
pius),  i.,  439;  ii.,  79/.,  81  ff.,  86, 
110,  114,  115,  117,  314/.,  319, 
332,  333,  343,  345/-,  348,  354,  385, 
418,  431,  444/-;  in-,  5-  J3>  28»  62> 

63,  156 /-,  184 

Goethe,  Cornelia,  i.,  15,  27,  40,  45, 
52,  56,  58,  68,  80,  81,  90/.,  142, 
182,  186,  189,  224,  237,  347,  393, 
421,  425,  431:  ü-  1;  iü-,  380 

Goethe,  Friedrich  Georg,  i.,  11,  50 

Goethe,  Hermann  Jacob  (the  poet’s 
step-uncle),  i.,  419 

Goethe,  Hermann  Jacob  (the  poet’s 
brother),  i.,  15 

Goethe,  Johann  Caspar,  i.,  ziff.,  14, 
16,  18,  2iff.,  34,  40,  43,  45,  69, 
79,  90,  94,  103,  138,  141/.,  152, 
153,  186,  213,  214,  215,  221,  223, 
230,  233,  309,  343-  344.  4i9, 
430;  ii.,  105,  280;  iii.,  183,  186, 
253 

Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang  von, 
birth,  i.,  8;  native  city,  8 ff.; 
family  tree,  ioff.;  early  life  at 
home,  14 ff.;  influences  outside 
the  home,  20 ff.;  first  love,  24 ff.; 
the  youth  of  seventeen,  30^.; 
earliest  productions,  31  ff.;  youth- 
ful  ambition,  40;  Student  at 
Leipsic,  41  ff.;  love  affair  with 
Kätchen,  53 ff.4,  journey  to  Dres- 
den, 71/.;  illness  in  Leipsic,  88/.; 
return  home,  89 ; recovery  of 
health,  90 ff.;  departure  for  Stras- 
burg, 94;  Student  at  Strasburg, 
95/jf. ; tour  of  Lower  Alsatia  and 
northern  Lorraine,  99/.;  Storm 
and  Stress,  106 ff. ; love  affair  with 
Friederike,  123 ff.;  university  ed- 
ucation  completed,  137/f. ; tour 
of  Upper  Alsatia,  139;  return 
home,  140;  activity  as  an  advo- 
cate,  141;  Darmstadt  associa- 
tions,  143#. ; activity  as  a Journal- 
ist, 147  ff.]  experience  at  the 
Imperial  Chamber,  152 ff.;  love 
affair  with  Lotte,  159 ff.',  return 
home,  166;  friends  scatter,  182/.; 
thoughts  of  suicide,  187/.;  inter- 
course  with  Maxe  La  Roche, 
188/.;  his  fame  spreads,  201; 
literary  lion  of  the  day,  20 3//.; 
journey  to  the  Lower  Rhine, 
206  ff.;  intercourse  with  Anna 
Sibylla  Münch,  213/.;  acquaint- 


402 


1nt>ei 


Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang  von; 

(continued) 

ance  of  Karl  August,  214/.; 
betrothal  to  Lili,  216 ff.-,  joumey 
to  Switzerland,  22 3 ff.;  engage- 
ment  to  Lili  broken,  232;  invita- 
tion  to  visit  Weimar,  232;  arrival 
in  Weimar,  275 /7- ; the  Duke’s 
Mentor,  282 ff.;  member  of  the 
Privy  Council,  289 ff.;  residence 
in  his  Gartenhaus,  297;  love 
affair  with  Frau  von  Stein,  299 ff. ; 
official  activities,  309/7.;  joumey 
to  Berlin,  323;  journey  to  the 
Harz,  337 ff.\  second  journey  to 
Switzerland,  343/7.;  official  bur- 
dens,  355/7-',  house  in  Weimar, 
359;  second  Werther  crisis,  365/.; 
flight  to  Italy,  367;  first  sojourn 
in  Italy,  368/7.;  tour  of  Sicily, 
397/7. ; love  affair  with  the  beauti- 
ful  Milanese,  405/.;  return  to 
Weimar,  408;  a changedman,  ii. , 
77;  rupture  with  Frau  von  Stein, 
78/7.;  conscience  marriage  to 
Christiane,  81/7.;  second  journey 
to  Italy,  86/7.;  journey  to  Silesia, 
89/7.;  director  of  Court  Theatre, 
93;  campaign  in  France,  104/7.; 
visit  to  his  mother  after  thirteen 
years  of  Separation,  105/7.;  siege 
of  Longwy,  109/.;  battle  of  Val- 
my,  in /.;  retreat  with  the 
Germans,  112/7.;  journey  to 
Düsseldorf,  114/7.;  visit  in  Mün- 
ster, 11 6/.;  return  to  Weimar, 
11 7/.;  siege  of  Mainz,  118/. ; 
travels  on  the  Rhine,  119;  again 
in  Weimar,  119;  friendship  with 
Schiller,  182/7.;  rupture  with 
Herder,  198/.;  relation  to  the 
Duke  cooled,  199/.;  friends  in 
Jena,  202 /. ; the  Xenien  war, 
208/7.;  prepares  for  a third 
journey  to  Italy,  31 1;  makes 
a will  and  bums  correspondence, 
314;  takes  Christiane  and  her  son 
to  Frankfort,  315;  last  tour  of 
Switzerland,  316 ff.;  nine  quiet 
years  (1797-1806)  at  home, 
321/7.;  interested  in  the  theatre, 
architecture,  art,  and  the  Uni- 
versity  of  Jena,  321  ff.;  new 
friends,  Knebel,  Meyer,  Riemer, 
Zelter,  329/7.;  serious  illness,  333; 
irritating  experiences,  334/7.;  an- 
other  serious  illness,  336;  death 
of  Schiller,  337 /. ; friendship  with 
Wolf,  338;  battle  of  Jena,  343; 
French  soldiers  in  his  house, 
344/- ; legal  marriage,  345/- 1 rela- 
tion to  Minna  Herzlieb,  349/7.; 


death  of  his  mother,  406 ff. ; Con- 
gress  of  Erfurt,  409/7.;  interview 
with  Napoleon,  411/7.;  acquaint- 
ance  with  Louis  Bonaparte,  415/.; 
acquaintance  with  the  Emperor 
of  Austria  and  the  Empress  of 
France,  418/7.;  acquaintance  with 
Beethoven,  420;  Prussian  up- 
rising,  423/7.;  battle  of  Leipsic, 
431/7.;  siege  of  Erfurt,  433;  cele- 
bration  of  peace,  434;  again  on 
the  Rhine,  iii.,  3/7.;  friendship 
with  Boisseree,  gff.;  relation  to 
Marianne  von  Willemer,  11/7., 
17 ff.;  visit  with  Minister  vom 
Stein,  1 5//'. ; death  of  Christiane, 
28;  the  lyric  poet,  30-80;  the 
naturalist,  81-134;  after  the  war 
of  liberation,  135/7.;  prime  minis- 
ter, 136;  attitude  toward  freedom 
of  the  press,  137/7.;  relation  to 
romanticism,  143/j. ; end  of  ac- 
tivity  as  theatre  director,  151  ff.; 
relation  to  Ulrike  von  Levetzow, 
155 ff.\  August’s  marriage,  156/.; 
activities  of  old  age,  162 ff.;  assist- 
ants,  1647.;  distinguished  visit- 
ors,  165/7.;  grandchildren,  167 f.\ 
youthfulness  preserved,  168/7.; 
other  characteristics  as  an  old 
man,  169 ff. ; jubilees,  1 78 ff. ; death 
of  Karl  August,  181;  death  of 
Frau  von  Stein,  18 3/.;  death  of 
August,  185/7.;  last  days,  359/7.; 
death,  364/.;  funeral,  365/7.; 
significance  to  the  world,  367 ff. 

Relatives  : — Patemal  grand- 
father,  see  Georg  Friedrich  Goe- 
the; paternal  grandmother,  see 
Cornelia  Schellhorn;  matemal 
great-grandfather,  see  Attorney 
Lindheimer;  matemal  grand- 
father,  see  Johann  Wolfgang  Tex- 
tor; maternal  grandmother,  see 
Anna  Margaretha  Lindheimer; 
father,  see  Johann  Caspar  Goethe; 
mother,  see  Katharina  Elizabeth 
Goethe 

Goethe,  Katharina  Elisabeth  (n£e 
Textor),  i.,  13,  15,  17,  86,  91,  93, 
94,  141,  161,  169,  210,  213,  221, 
222,  296,  311,  343  ff •.  354.  357/-. 
360,  418,  419/.;  ii-,  105/7.,  ii8//-. 
210,  280,  314/7-.  334,  406/7., 

444.  449;  iii.,  183;  see  Frau  Aja 
Goethe,  Ottilie  von,  iii.,  156/.,  168, 
185,187,270,361,364,379 
Goethe,  Walther  von,  iii.,  156, 167/., 
185,  241,  362,  379 
Goethe,  WTolfgang  von,  iii.,  156, 
167/.,  185,  361,  362,  379 
Goethe  a Roma  (Carletta),  i.,  439 


Anbei 


403 


Goethe  aus  näherm  persönlichen 
Umgang  (Falk),  i.,  420;  ii.,  408/. 
Goethe  im  Sturm  und  Drang  (Weis- 
senfels),  i.,  424 

Goethe  in  der  Epoche  seiner  Vollen- 
dung (Harnack),  ii.,  447 
Goethe  in  Hauptzügen  seines  Lebens 
(Schöll),  i.,  436 

Goethe  in  seiner  praktischen  Wirk- 
samkeit (Fr.  von  Müller),  ii.,  444 
Goethe  und  die  Romantik  (Schüd- 
dekopf  and  Walzel),  iii. , 379 
Goethe  und  Frankfort  am  Main 
(Stricker),  i.,  418 

Goethe  und  Karl  August  (Düntzer), 

in-,  137 

Goethe  und  Schiller  (Gräf),  ii.,  444 
Goethefestschrift , etc.,  ii.,  451 
Goethehaus,  the,  in  Frankfort,  i., 
421;  in  Weimar,  i.,  359;  ii.,  318; 

111.,  136,  163 

Goethes  Briefwechsel  mit  einem  Kinde 
(Bettina  Brentano),  iii.,  145 
Goethes  Briefwechsel  mit  Schultz,  iii., 
117 

Goethes  Charakter  (Saitschick) , ii., 
444 

Goethes  drei  letzte  Lebenstage  (Hol- 
sten), iii.,  385 

Goethes  Eintritt  in  Weimar  (Dünt- 
zer), i.,  435 

Goethes  Faust  (Düntzer),  iii.,  383 
Goethes  Faust  (Fischer),  iii.,  381,382 
Goethes  Faust  (Minor),  iii.,  382 
Goethes  Faust  (Vischer),  iii.,  382 
Goethes  Faust  (Ziegler),  iii.,  382 
Goethes  Faust  in  ursprünglicher 
Gestalt  (Schmidt),  iii.,  381 
Goethes  Faust,  Zeugnisse  und  Ex- 
curse  (Pniower),  ii.,  449;  iii.,  381 
Goethes  Faustdichtung  in  ihrer  künst- 
lerischen Einheit  dar  gestellt  (Val- 
entin), iii.,  383 

Goethes  Gartenhaus , quotation  from, 
i-,  279 

Goethes  Gespräche  (Biedermann), 
ü-,  174,  444,  4S3i  iü-,  io7 
Goethes  Goldner  Jubeltag,  iii.,  180 
Goethes  Götz  auf  der  Bühne  (Nöllen), 

1.,  428,  429 

Goethes  Hermann  und  Dorothea 
(Keck),  ii.,  450 

Goethes  Iphigenie  (Fischer),  ii.,  18 
Goethes  Iphigenie  auf  Tauris  in 
vierfacher  Gestalt  (Bächtold),  ii., 
44°,  441 

Goethes  Leben  (Viehoff),  i.,  420 
Goethes  letzte  literarische  T ätigkeit 
(K.  W.  Müller),  iii.,  95,  385 
Goethes  lyrische  Dichtungen  der 
ersten  Weimarischen  Jahre  (Koe- 
gel),  i-,  435 


Goethe' s Poems  (Goebel),  i.,  78,  435 
Goethes  schöne  Seele  (Dechent),  ii., 
^ 448 

Goethes  Tagebücher  (Düntzer),  i., 
435 

Goethes  Tasso  (Fischer),  ii.,  442 
Goethes  Theaterleitung  in  Weimar 
(Pasque),  ii.,  445 

Goethes  Unterhaltungen  mit  dem 
Kanzler  von  Müller  (Burkhardt), 
ii.,  448 

Goethes  Verhältnis  zu  Kant  (Vorlän- 
der), ii.,  447 

Goethes  Verhältnis  zu  Klopstock 
(Lyon),  i.,  78,  147 
Goethes  W erke , vollständige  Ausgabe 
letzter  Hand,  iii.,  172 
Goethes  Wohnhaus  in  Weimar, 
quoted,  iii.,  166 

Golden  Bull,  the,  i.,  19;  iii.,  345 
Goldoni,  i.,  79 
Goldsmith,  i.,  115;  ii.,  259 
Görres,  iii.,  16 

Görtz,  Count,  i.,  214,  260,  435; 

ü-,  35,  44i/- 
Göschenen,  i.,  227 
Goslar,  i.,  339 

Gotha,  i.,  157,  273,  418;  ii.,  130,  441 
Gotha,  Duke  of,  i.,  268 
Gothaischer  Hofkalender,  i.,  423, 


Gothic  art,Goethe’s  attitude  toward , 
i.,  104,  122,  376/.,  379/.,  384. 
407,  438;  ii.,  328;  iii.,  10 
Gott,  Gemüt  und  Welt,  quotation 
from,  iii.,  102 

Götter,  i.,  157,  187;  iii.,  255 
Götter,  Helden  und  Wieland,  i.,  204, 


214t. 

Gottfried,  i.,  16,  222,  420 
Göttingen,  i.,  21 1,  259 
Göttinger  Hain,  the,  i.,  222 
Göttling,  ii.,  331,  451 
Gottsched,  i.,  38,  49,  73/.,  77,  113; 
iü-,  33 

Götz,  character  in  Goue’s  Masuren, 
i-,  187 

Götz,  the  historical,  i.,  142,  169, 
1 70, 428 

Götz,  hero  of  the  drama,  i.,  156, 
169 ff.,  247,  327,  432 
Götz  von  Berlichingen,  i.,  3,  98,  136, 
142,  156,  167/.,  169-181,  185, 
186,  201,  236,  238,  245,  260, 327, 
33°,  356,  376,  428/.;  ii.,  31,  184, 
272,  425;  iii.,  61,  254,  256,  329, 

357,  375, 383  r 
Gou6,  von,  i.,  156/.,  187 
Gounod,  iii.,  376 
Gräf,  ii.,  444 

Graf  von  Essex  (Dyk),  ii.,  433 
Grandison,  i.,  430 


404 


llnfcei 


Grandison  der  Zweite  (Musäus),  i., 
262 

Granite,  Goethe’s  theory  of,  iii., 
11 2/. 

Grasse,  i.,  22,  420 
Gratz,  ii.,  94 
Graz,  i.,  1 1 

Grecomania,  the  romantic,  iii.,  147 
Greece,  i.,  110;  ii.,  25,  33;  iii.,  55, 
169,  174,  242,  336,  337,  340,  382 
Greek,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  16,  19, 
29,  30,  79,  11 7;  see  also  various 
Greek  authors 
Greenland,  i.,  370,  372 
Grenzen  der  Menschheit,  iii.,  62; 

quotation  from,  279;  291,  375 
Gretchen,  Goethe’s  early  love,  i., 
24 ff-,  36-  r33 

Gretchen,  character  in  Faust,  i., 
136,  144;  iii.,  253,  256,  283/., 
288 ff.,  343,  344,  350 
Gries,  ii.,  444 
Griesbach,  ii.,  203 
Grillparzer,  iii.,  177 
Grimm,  Baron,  ii.,  115 
Grimm,  Jacob,  ii.,  422 
Grindbrunnen,  the,  i.,  20 
Grindelwald,  i.,  348 
Gröning,  i.,  89 
Groschlag,  von,  i.,  310 
Gross  ist  die  Diana  der  Epkeser,  ii., 
159;  iii.,  54/.,  63 
Gross-Brembach,  i.,  318 
Grosse  Scheideck,  i.,  348 
Grosser  Hirschgraben,  in  Frank- 
fort, i.,  14 

Grossglockner,  the,  i.,  339 
Grossman,  i.,  169 
Grotta  Azzurra,  i.,  439 
Grotthus,  Sara  von,  i.,  429;  ii.,  416 
Grundlage  der  gesammten  Wissen- 
schaftslehre (Fichte),  iii.,  143 
Grundlinien  der  Philosophie  des 
Rechts  (Hegel),  iii.,  241 
Grundriss,  etc.  (Gödeke),  ii.,  445 
Guarini,  ii.,  50 
Gubitz,  iii.,  375 
Guise,  Duke  of,  ii.,  336 
Günderode,  von,  i.,  100 
Günther,  Councillor,  ii.,  343 
Günther,  J.  C.,  iii.,  46 
Gutzkow,  iii.,  384 

Hackert,  Georg,  i.,  395 
Hackert,  Philipp,  i.,  395;  Goethe’s 
biography  of,  ii.,  417 
Hadrian,  i.,  3 

Haemon,  character  in  Antigone,  i., 
*99 

Haffner,  i.,  426 
Hafiz,  iii.,  2 ff.,  20 
Hagedorn,  poet,  i.,  92 


Hagedorn,  von,  art  collector,  i.,  71 

Hagenau,  i.,  100,  123 

Hahn,  i.,  21 1 

Halberstadt,  i.,  259 

Hall,  i.,  369 

Halle,  ii.,  330,  335,  338,  425,  445 
Haller,  1.,  31 1;  iii.,  96,  253 
Hamann,  i.,  107,  110,  iii,  113, 
115,  248;  ii.,  116 

Hamburg,  i.,  iii,  151,  429,  432; 

ii.,  445,  iii.,  63,  384 
Hamburgische  Dramaturgie  (Less- 
ing), i.,  76,  423 
Hamilton,  Sir  William,  i.,  395 
Hamlet  (Shakespeare),  i.,  177,  196, 
379;  ii.,  236 
Hammer,  iii.,  2,  20 
Hanau,  i.,  41,  354 
Handhook  of  Proverbs  (Bohn),  i., 
T 233 

Händel,  pastry-cook,  i.,  65 
Handicraftsman,  the,  in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre,  iii.,  196 ff., 

21  zff- 

Hanover,  the  state,  i.,  437;  ii.,  341, 
421 

Hanover,  the  city,  i.,  156,  157, 
183,  295;  iii.,  164 

Hans  Sachsens  poetische  Sendung, 

11.,  214;  quotation  from,  iii.,  70 
Hanswurst,  i.,  76 

Hanswurst  (Wurstel),  character  in 
Hanswursts  Hochzeit,  i.,  252 f. 
Hanswursts  Hochzeit,  i.,  249,  252/. 
Happiness,  Goethe’s  theory  of,  ii., 
162  ff. 

Harbours,  Goethe  interested  in,  iii., 
174 

Hardenberg,  Chancellor  von,  iii., 
140/. 

Hargreaves,  iii.,  215 
Harmony,  of  Goethe’s  nature  and 
work,  i.,  1,  S8,  103,  409,  439;  ii., 
117;  iii.,  66#.,  77/.,  81  ff.,  98#., 
368 

Hamack,  Otto,  ii.,  447,  450,  453; 

111.,  380 

Harpist,  the,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  i.,  141;  ii.,  230 ff.,  256, 
264,  265,  448;  iii.,  375,  376 
Harte,  Emma,  i.,  395 
Harz  Mountains,  i.,  3,  337#-,  351, 
356,  361,  436;  ii.,  338;  iii.,  38,  40 
Harzreise  im  Winter,  quotations 
from,  i.,  33S,  342;  iii.,  38,  68,  375 
Hatem,  character  in  West-östlicher 
Divan,  iii.,  14,  19,  23,  24,  27 
Haugwitz,  von,  i.,  222,  225 
Häusser,  ii.,  445 

Havequick,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 
344 

Haydn,  Joseph,  iii.,  375 


Infcex 


405 


Haym,  R.,  iii.,  37 Sf. 

Heathenism,  Goethe’s,  iii.,  147/. 
Hebel,  iii.,  25 

Hebrew,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  16/., 
3° 

Hegel,  ii.,  148.  i8of.,  202,  317; 

111.,  241,  244 

Hegire,  quotation  from,  iii.,  80 
Heidelberg,  i.,  221;  Goethe  in, 

233/.,  and  ii.,  119,  275,  316/.,  354, 
and  iii.,  10/.,  13,  19,  21  ff.,  25,  26; 

1.,  418;  ii.,  274,  276,  281 
Heidenröslein,  i.,  1 1 8 ; iii. , 47,  62, 

374.  376 

Heilbronn,  i.,  172,  174;  ii.,  317 
Heine,  iii.,  35/.,  52,  68 
Heinrich,  Prince,  i.,  323 
Heinroth,  iii.,  85 

Heinse,  i.,  199,  208,  209,  251;  ii., 
34,  114,  115,  264 

“Heiss  mich  nicht  reden,”  etc., 

111.,  376 

Heitmüller,  i.,  434 
Helen,  ii.,  4 

Helena,  character  in  the  puppet 
play  Doktor  Faust,  iii.,  252;  in 
the  folk-book,  274;  in  Goethe’s 
Faust,  253,  256,  259,  263,  266 ff., 
288,  331#. 

Helena,  episode  in  Faust,  ii.,  333, 
360  ;iii.,  263, 266#.,  339#- . 381 ,384 
Helios,  ii.,  394,  402 
Helmholtz,  iii.,  119,  123,  134 
Helmholtz,  Hermann  von  (Koenigs- 
berger),  iii.,  134 
Helmont,  van,  i.,  93 
Hempel,  ii.,  441 
Henderich,  von,  ii.,  350 
Henneberg,  i.,  313/.,  435 
Hennes,  i.,  430 
Henning,  von,  iii.,  123 
Hennings,  von,  i.,  157 
Henry  III.,  ii.,  336 
Hensel,  Frau,  i.,  257 
Hephaestus,  ii.,  391 
Heraclitus,  ii.,  229 
Herbarium,  Goethe’s,  iii.,  163 
Herbst  ( Vier  Jahreszeiten),  No.  62 
quoted,  ii.,  153 
Herbstgefühl,  iii.,  49/. 

Herculaneum,  i.,  396 
Hercules,  i.,  64 

Herder,  i.,  1,  107,  noff.,  144,  147, 
152,  170,  182/.,  221,  222,  229, 
251/.,  266,  288/.,  291,  367,  409, 
425,  427,  433;  ii-,  82/.,  86,  124, 
I5°.  W3,  198 200,  205,  326, 

329,336,446,447;  iü..  59.  62,  63. 
83,  98,  110,  129,  145.  228>  253> 
286,  367,  374,  381;  concerning 
Goethe,  i.,  3,4,  n8,  148,  167,  176. 
326,  418,  423,  436>  439.  an<4 


11.,  448,  and  iii.,  90,  250,  258; 
his  influence  on  Goethe,  i.,  112 ff., 
121,  123,  143,  145,  248,  and 

111.,  47,  250;  i.,  167,  176;  ii.,  35, 
138,  140, 218,  272 

Herder,  Karoline  ( nee  Flachsland), 

1.,  118,  144,  145,  146,  168,  176, 
182,  229,  289,  439;  ii.,  78,  83, 
88,  185,  198/. 

Herders  Reise  nach  Italien,  i.,  439 
Hering,  Robert,  ii.,  446 
Hermann,  hero  of  Hermann  und 
Dorothea,  i.,  192;  ii.,  280 ff. 
Hermann,  Assessor,  i.,  53,  59,  69, 

89 

Hermann,  Gottfried,  ii.,  440 
Hermann  und  Dorothea,  i.,  3,  412; 

11.,  85,  103,  127,  264,  269-310, 
31 1 > 34G  383,  446,  449/-;  iü-. 
79,  261,  365,  367 

Hermann  und  Dorothea  (Elegie),  ii., 
45° 

Hermes,  ii.,  264 

Hermes,  character  in  Satyros,  i., 
249/. 

“Herrin,  sag’,  was  heisst  das 
Flüstern”  (from  Vollmondnacht), 

111.,  71 

Herrmann,  Max,  i.,  422 
Herrn  von  Hoffs  geologisches  Werk, 
iü-,  378 

Hersilie,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre,  iii.,  203, 
22  3/- 

Herz,  Henriette,  ii.,  416 
Herzensergiessungen  eines  kunstlie- 
benden Klosterbruders  (Wacken- 
roder), iii.,  146 

Herzlieb,  Wilhelmine  (Minchen, 
Minna),  ii.,  349 ff-,  355,  386/,  389, 
405,  416,  451;  iii.,  26,  145,  191 
Hesiodic  poems,  i.,  29 
Hesperides,  iii.,  259 
Hesse,  Councillor,  i.,  145,  310 
Hesse-Darmstadt,  ii.,  341 
Hesse-Homburg,  i.,  145 
Heuer,  O.,  i.,  421 
Heuscheuer,  the,  ii.,  92 
Heyden,  i.,  419 
Heyse,  Paul,  ii.,  440 
“Hier  befolg’  ich  den  Rat,”  etc. 
(from  Römische  Elegien,  No.  5),  i., 

385 

Highways  and  Canals,  Goethe 
director  of,  i.,  317 
Hilarie,  character  in  Der  Mann 
von  fünfzig  Jahren,  iii.,  208 ff., 
223 

Hirt,  archseologist,  i.,  388;  iii.,  262 
Hirt,  esthetician,  ii.,  327 
Historia  von  D.  Johann  Fausten, 
etc.  (Spies),  iii.,  271 


406 


Unfcei 


Historisch-kritische  Nachrichten  von 
Italien  (Volkmann),  i.,  438 
Historisches  Taschenbuch  (1814), 

11. , 429 

History,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  16, 
30,  94,  and  ii.,  77,  and  iii.,  173; 
his  attitude  toward,  ii.,  152,  187, 
and  iii.,  281;  he  understands  his 
place  in,  176 

History  of  Gottfried  von  Berlich- 
ingen  Dramatised,  see  Geschichte 
Gottfriedens  von  Berlichingen  dra- 
matisiert 

History  of  the  Popes  (Bower),  i., 
15, 420 

Hither  Pomerania,  ii.,  421 
Hitzig,  iii.,  244 

“ Hoch  auf  dem  alten  Turme  steht,” 
see  Geistesgruss 
Höchst,  i.,  26 

Hochzeitlied,  iii.,  56,  57,  375 
Hof,  ii.,  342 

Hofmann,  A.  W.,  ii.,  451 
Hofmann,  stuccoer,  ii.,  332 
Hohe  Karlsschule,  the,  i.,  354 
Holbach,  i.,  119 

Holdfast,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 
344 

Holland,  i.,  24,  419;  ii.,  340,  415/.; 

111.,  89 

Holstein,  ii.,  119 
Holstein-Eutin,  Prince  of,  i.,  110 
Holsten,  Karl,  iii.,  385 
Hölty,  iii.,  79 

Holy  Roman  Empire,  the,  ii.,  342 
Homburg,  i.,  354 

Homer,  Goethe  interested  in,  i., 
19.  IX5>  II7.  n8 /.,  122,  143,  150, 
1 53>  *55,  162,  164,  197,  376,  and 

111.,  250;  i.,  109,  114,  190,  192, 
197,  201 ; ii.,  34,  42,  430;  iii.,  182, 
368 

Homunculus,  character  in  Faust, 
iü-.  335 ff-,  353.  383 
Hoppe,  i.,  29 

Horace,  i.,  32,  33,  74,  208,  259 
Horgen,  ii.,  318 

Horn,  i„  43,  52,  53,  65/.,  81,  89, 
183,  426 

Hospental,  i.,  353 

Hospice,  the,  i.,  228 

Howard,  meteorologist,  iii.,  116 

Hrotswitha,  iii.,  175 

Huber,  i.,  69,  70;  ii.,  109,  183 

Huber,  Therese,  ii. , 451 

Hufeland,  jurist,  ii.,  150,  203,  335 

Hufeland,  professor  of  medicine, 

11.,  203,  335 ; iii.,  385 
Hugo,  Victor,  iii.,  173/.,  360 
Humanity,  Goethe’s  i.,  1,  3,  and 

ii.,  119,  216,  and  iii.,  178, 

367ff- 


Humboldt,  Alexander  von,  i.,  267; 

11.,  202;  iii.,  129,  361 
Humboldt,  Alexander  von  (Karl 

Bruhns),  iii.,  129 
Humboldt,  Frau  von,  iii.,  10 
Humboldt,  Wilhelm  von,  i.,  353;  ii., 
202,  262,  309,  321,  329,  448; 

111.,  166,  176,  178,  244,  262,  268, 
269,  270 

Hünfeld,  iii.,  5 
Hungary,  ii.,  445 
Hunter,  i.,  420 

Huron,  Goethe’s  nickname,  i.,  220 
Hüsgen,  Councillor,  i.,  19,  309 
Hutten,  iii.,  273 


Icarus,  iii.,  340 
Iccander  (J.  C.  Crell),  i.,  41 
Ice  age,  Goethe’s  idea  of  an,  iii.,  115 
‘‘Ich  geh’  meinen  alten  Gang” 
(An  Frau  von  Stein),  i.,  297 
“Ich  komme  bald,  ihr  goldnen 
Kinder,”  i.,  127 

Ideen  zur  Geschichte  der  Menschheit 
(Herder),  iii.,  110,  129 
IfHand,  ii.,  98,  434 
Igel  Monument,  ii.,  109 113 
“Ihr  Gedanken  fliehet  mich  ”(Frau 
von  Stein),  i.,  389/. 

“ Ihr  könnt  mir  immer  ungescheut” 
(from  Zahme  Xenien),  iii.,  151 
“Ihr  verblühet,  süsse  Rosen” 
(from  Erwin  und  Elmire),  iii.,  376 
“Ihrer  sechzig  hat  die  Stunde” 
(In  das  Stammbuch  des  Enkels, 
Walter  von  Goethe),  iii.,  241 
Ihro  der  Kaiserin  von  Frankreich 
Majestät,  ii.,  418 

Ihro  der  Kaiserin  von  Österreich 
Majestät,  ii.,  418 

Ihro  des  Kaisers  von  Österreich 
Majestät,  ii.,  418 
Iken,  ii.,  449 

II  Principe  (Machiavelli) , iii.,  254 
II  Principe  (konstante  (Calderon),  i., 
5-  3791  ü-.  4i7 
Ilfeld,  i.,  338 
Iliad,  the,  iii.,  263 

lll,  the,  i.,  119 

llm,  the,  i.,  3,  255,  274,  297,  4°8; 

ii.,  349;  iü-,  40 

Ilmenau,  i.,  322,  339;  ii-,  92,  108, 
329;  iii.,  112,  179,  361 
Ilmenau,  i.,  262,  315,  434;  iü-,  391 
quotations  from,  i.,  2S4,  2S7 
Im  Gegenwärtigen  Vergangnes,  quo- 
tation  from,  iii.,  4 
“Im  Grenzenlosen  sich  zu  finden” 
(from  Eins  und  Alles),  ii.,  164 
“Im  holden  Tal,  auf  schneebedeck- 
ten Höhen”  (An  Lili),  i..  245 
Imbaumgarten,  Peter,  i.,  348 


Unfcei 


407 


Immermann,  ii. , 445 
Immermann , Karl  (Putlitz),  ii.,  445 
Imperial  Chamber,  the,  i.,  10,  11, 
152-  153f -,  !S6.  160,  30g,  428 
“In  allen  guten  Stunden’’  ( Bundes- 
lied),  ii.,  207 

In  das  Stammbuch  des  Enkels , 
Walter  von  Goethe , quoted,  iii., 
241 

/n  das  Stammblich  von  Friedrich 
Maximilian  Moors , quoted,  i., 
37 

“In  engen  Hütten  und  im  reichen 
Saal”  (from  Auf  Miedings  Tod), 

1.,  258 

India,  iii.,  2,  144 

Indian,  Goethe’s  nickname,  i.,  220 
Indiana,  iii.,  192 

Individuality,  Goethe’s  apprecia- 
tion  of,  ii.,  171  /. 

Indus,  the,  iii.,  55 

Industries,  Goethe’s  interest  in,  i. 

100,  339,  and  ii.,  90,  92 
Innsbruck,  i.,  369 
Institutes  (Hoppe),  i.,  29 
Interlaken,  i.,  348 
Intermaxillary,  Goethe’s  discovery 
of  the,  in  man,  i.,  362,  and  ii., 
169,  and  iii.,  83/f.,  108,  109 
Ion  (Schlegel),  ii.,  334;  iii.,  144 
Ionian  Islands,  i.,  373 
Iphigenia,  character  in  Euripides, 

11.,  3/.,  16 

Iphigenia,  heroine  of  the  drama, 

1.,  82,  265,  300,  334,  438;  ii.,  1 ff., 
48,  138,  247,  255,  276,  277,  386, 
440;  iii.,  176,  224,  245 

Iphigenie,  i.,  308,  329,  365,  373, 
376,  410;  ii.,  1-32,  34,  37,  38, 
41,  73.  1 1 5>  I23>  J34,  183,  191, 
192,  203,  272,  277,  280,  298, 
332,  383.  44i,  444.  446;  iii.,  180, 
245,  287,  367 

Iphigenie  (Gluck),  iii.,  374 
Iphigenie  auf  Delphos,  i.,  418 
Iphigenie  in  Delphi,  i.,  410,  418,  440 
I phigenie  in  ihrer  ersten  Gestalt 
(Stahr),  ii.,  441 
Iris,  the,  ii.,  34 
Isabel,  i.,  39 
Isergebirge,  the,  ii.,  93 
Isis  (Oken),  iii.,  137,  141 
Isolation,  Goethe’s, i.,  360;  ii.,  19 8/7 . 
“Ist  auf  deinem  Psalter”  (from 
Harzreise  im  Winter),  i.,  338 
“ Ist  es  möglich!  Stern  der  Sterne  ” 
(from  Buch  Suleika),  iii.,  22 
Istria,  i.,  373 

Italian,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  16, 

3°,  39 /-,  79,  371:  79 

Italienische  Reise , experiences  upon 
which,  is  based,  i.,  368-413,  438, 


439;  ii.,  85,  440;  iii.,  99,  100, 
106,  117,  172 

Italy,  i.,  3,  11,  64,  213,  223,  228, 
233,  234,  264,  329,  353,  365, 

366,  367,  368-413,  418,  419, 

43°,  437/-:  ü-,  3,  31,  33-  37,  5°, 
7i,  75 ff-,  85,  86-88,  91,  99,  105, 
106,  107,  114/.,  122,  136,  152, 
163,  172,  182,  184,  185,  190, 

191,  192,  200,  216,  226,  278, 

3ii ff-,  3X5>  3i6>  3i8>  3i9/-,  34°, 
344,  4i7,  440,  443,  444;  in-,  4,  29, 
43,  92,  98,  i°3,  1 20,  125,  132, 
147,  174,  186/.,  259 ff.,  262,  283, 
284,  287, 377,  378 

Ixion,  i.,  364,  382 


“Ja,  Götterlust  kann  einen  Durst 
nicht  schwächen”  (Wieland),  iii., 
250 

Jabach  house  in  Cologne,  i.,  209; 

iii.,  16 

Jacob,  i.,  112 

Jacobi,  Betty,  i.,  207/.;  ii.,  115 
Jacobi,  Fritz,  i.,  6.,  20 yff.,  212,  215, 
236,  240,  248,  259,  310,  417, 
433;  ü-,  IX4 7-,  119,  !24,  159- 
160,  168,  171,  174/.,  177,  394; 

111.,  63,  65 

Jacobi,  Georg,  i.,  145,  148,  207 ff., 
21 1 

Jacobi,  Lenchen,  ii.,  115 
Jacobi,  Lottchen,  i.,  207;  ii.,  115 
Jacobins,  the,  ii.,  104,  110,  119, 
123,  149,  1 5° 

Jagemann,  Karoline,  iii.,  26,  152 f. 
Jägers  Abendlied,  quotation  from, 

11.,  2;  iii.,  45,  375,  376 

Jahn,  ii.,  429 

J ahrmarkt  zu  Hünfeld,  iii.,  5 
Jamaica,  ii.,  301 
Jamblika,  iii.,  58 
Janssen,  i.,  430,  431 
Jarno,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, ii.,  2327J.,  231,  267;  (Montan), 

111.,  198/.,  212,  221,  222,  224 
Jaxthausen,  i.,  174,  179 
Jean  Paul,  iii.,  228,  241 
“Jeglichen  Schwärmer  schlagt  mir 

ans  Kreuz”  ( Venez . Epigr.,  No. 
52),  ii.,  148 

Jena,  i-,  42,  273,  313,  319,  362,  433, 
435',  ü-,  32,  84,  150,  172,  185, 
187,  193,  195,  198,  202,  203, 
205,  262,  274,  281,  317,  321,  322, 
329,  331 , 333,'  334,  335#-;  battle 
of,  343/-:  348,  349 ff-,  352,  353- 
354,  386,  390,  413/.,  415,  416, 
423,  425,  426,  428,  451;  111., 
83,  x37-  i38,  140,  141,  144,  152/-. 
162,  1Ö5,  271,  361 


408 


Anbei 


Jenaische  Allgemeine  Literatur  Zei- 
tung (founded  by  Goethe),  ii. , 
336,  337;  üi.,  263 

“Jene  Menschen  sind  toll”  ( Venez . 

Epigr.,  No.  57),  ii.,  147 
Jentzel,  General,  ii.,  343/. 
Jerusalem,  ii.,  151 
J erusalem  Delivered  (Tasso),  i.,  39; 

ü-.  33.  4i,  44,  57,  64 
Jerusalem,  Wilhelm,  i.,  157,  185, 
187,  188 

Jery  und  Bätely,  i.,  353;  ii.,  308; 

üi-,  3 76 
Jesus,  lii. , 343 
Jew,  the  wandering,  i.,  210 
Job,  i.,  29;  iii. , 310 
Johann,  ii.,  409 

John,  Goethe’s  amanuensis,  ii.,  433; 

iii.,  163 
Jonas,  ii.,  448 
Joseph,  i.,  38,  421 
Joseph,  Archduke,  i.,  23^.,  154;  ii., 
89 

Jourdain,  character  in  Moliere,  ii., 
420 

Journal  des  Luxus  und  der  Moden 
(Bertuch),  ii.,  334 
Journal  von  Tiefurt,  ii.,  447 
Journals,  Goethe’s  reading  of,  iii., 
1 74 /• 

Jubilee,  of  Karl  August’s  corona- 
tion,  iii.,  178 ; of  Goethe’s 
arrival  in  Weimar,  179 ff. 

Julie,  character  in  Wer  ist  der 
Verräter?,  iii.,  202/. 

Juliette,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ters W ander fahre,  iii.,  203 
Jung,  Marianne,  see  Willemer 
Jung-Stilling,  i.,  88,  98 /.,  120,  209, 
211,  426;  ii.,  207;  iii.,  25 
Jungius,  Joachim,  Goethe’s  essay 
on,  iii.,  95/. 

Juno,  Goethe’s  bust  of,  i.,  393, 
438;  ii.,  81 

Juno  Ludovisi,  i.,  385 
Jupiter,  Goethe’s  bust  of,  i.,  438; 

iii.,  177 

Jupiter  d’Otricoli,  i.,  385 
Jura  Mountains,  i.,  347,  349 
Jurisprudence,  jurist,  see  law 
Just,  character  in  Minna  von 
Barnhelm,  i.,  174 

Kabale  und  Liebe  (Schiller),  ii.,  185 
Kahlert,  ii.,  444 

Kalb,  Chamberlain  von,  i.,  232 ff., 
262,  279,  290/.,  295,  320 
Kalb,  Frau  von,  i.,  266;  ii.,  35 
Kalte  Küche,  the,  i.,  268 
Kammerberg,  the,  iii.,  113 
Kampagne  in  Frankreich,  Goethe’s 
experiences  upon  which,  isbased, 


11.,  102-118;  274;  iii.,  82,  96,  101 , 
120,  128,  172, 377 

Kämtz,  iii.,  117 

“ Kann  wohl  sein!  so  wird  gemeinet 
(from  Buch  Suleika),  iii.,  237. 
Kanne,  Doctor,  i.,  64 
“Kanntest  jeden  Zug  in  meinem 
Wesen”  (from  “Warum  gabst 
du  uns  die  tiefen  Blicke  ”),  i.,  300 
Kant,  i.,  iii.;  ii.,  160,  172 ff.,  179, 
181,  190,  195/.,  208,  283,  383,423, 
447,  448 ; iii.,  101,  102,  205 ff. 
Karl,  Prince  of  Prussia,  iii.,  165 
Karl,  character  in  Das  Mädchen 
von  Oberkirch,  ii.,  127 
Karl,  character  in  Götz,  i.,  172 
Karl,  Archduke,  ii.,  316 
Karl  Alexander,  iii.,  165 
Karl  August,  i.,  144,  255,  256,  258, 
260,  261,  262,  265,  266,  267#'., 
280 ff.,  312/.,  318,  320,  325,  338, 
357.  359.  364.  366,  367, 383,  413, 
4347-,  436,  437;  ii-,  35.  37.  86, 
89 ff.,  94,  104 ff.,  128,  140,  149, 
i8$f.,  198/.,  314,  323,  330,  332, 
335.  342,  344,  345.  346,  408 ff., 
412 ff.,  428,  433,  434,  440,  441, 
442,  444;  iii.,  25,  26,  90,  100, 
136,  137 /-,  I4°f-,  154,  178/.,  181/., 
183,  185,  258/.,  260,  267,  269, 
373.  379!  Goethe’s  relation  to, 

1.,  214,  223,  232,  279,  282 ff.,  295/., 
297.  3I2>  3I4/f-,  32°.  322#-.  343- 
354,  36o>  and  u->  75/-,  77.  “3, 
199/-.  333/-,  and  111.,  39,  46,  136, 
152 /.,  157/-,  161,  165,  179/-; 
concerning  Goethe,  i.,  292 /.,  295, 
and  ii.,  420 

Karl  Friedrich,  iii.,  165 
Karl  Theodor  von  Pfalz-Sulzbach, 
i-,  322 

Karlsbad,  i.,  367,  389;  ii.,  339,  342, 
348,  353.  39°.  405/-.  407,  415. 
418,  420;  iii.,  7,  112,  150,  158 
Karlsruhe,  i.,  182,  223,  263,  310, 
354;  ü-,  354;  in-,  25 
Karoline,  Landgravine,  i.,  144/.,  183 
Karsch,  Anna  Luise,  i.,  259 
Karsten,  actor,  iii.,  152/. 

Kassel,  i.,  387 

Kätchen,  see  Anna  Katharina 
Schönkopf 
Kaufmann,  i.,  251 
Kaufmann,  Angelika,  i.,  388,  407, 
439 

Kaunitz,  Count,  1.,  24 
Kayser,  i.,  225,  402,  404,  408;  iii., 
374  .. 

Keck,  11.,  450 
Keller,  Frau  von,  i.,  275 
“ Kennst  du  das  Land,’’  see  Mig- 
non 


Unfrei 


409 


“Kennt  ihr  solcher  Tiefe  Grund” 
(from  Buch  Suleika),  iii.,  27 
Kepler,  iii.,  273 

Kestner,  Charlotte,  see  Charlotte 
Buff 

Kestner,  J.  C.,  i.,  153,  157-167, 
183,  184/.,  187,  199,  295,  422; 
ii-,  212/. 

Kielmannsegge,  von,  i.,  156/. 
Kilian,  i.,  429 

Kilian  Brustfleck,  character  in 
Hanswursts  Hochzeit,  i.,  253 
King  John  (Shakespeare),  ii.,  96 
King  Lear  (Shakespeare),  i.,  131, 

379  „ , . 

Kirchhoff,  Alfred,  iii.,  92 
Kirms,  ii.,  94,  200,  332 
Klärchen,  character  in  Egmont,  i., 
33Iff- 

Klassische  Ästhetik  der  Deutschen 
(Hamack),  ii.,  450 
“Kleine  Blumen,  kleine  Blätter, ” 
see  Mit  einem  gemalten  Band 
Kleine  Schriften  (Böttiger),  ii.,  451 
Kleiner  Hirschgraben,  in  Frankfort, 

i.,  26 

Kleist,  i.,  49 

Kleist,  the  Courland  Barons  von, 

1.,  120 

Kleist,  Heinrich  von,  iii.,  146 
Klettenberg,  Fräulein  von,  i.,  92/., 
96,  100,  103,  183,  214,  215, 

311;  ii.,  116,  170,  241,  448;  iii., 
9.  249 

Klingemann,  iii.,  384 
Klinger,  i.,  251,  291 
Klinkowström,  von,  i.,  263 
Klopstock,  i.,  1,  18,  19,  49,  78, 
87,  107,  110,  145,  147,  149,  208, 
211,  212,  266,  285 ff.,  430;  ii., 
208;  iii.,  46,  61,  170,  374 
Kloster,  the,  i.,  271 
Klosterbruder,  the  (Wackenroder), 

111.,  146,  148 
Knebel,  Hans,  i.,  434 

Knebel,  i.,  3,  214,  239,  259 f.,  264, 
266,  268,  269,  271,  301,  321, 
360,  364,  418,  434,  435;  ü-,  io3> 
150,  182,  200,  202,  320,  323,  329, 
349,  350,  351,  429,  453;  iii.,  11, 
86,  88,  95,  101,  132,  359;  con- 
cerning  Goethe,  i.,  4,  215,  326, 
337,  and  ii.,  429,  and  iii.,  127, 
257 

Knebels  literarischer  Nachlass,  i., 
433,  434;  iü-,  9° 

Kniep,  i.,  395 ff.,  402 
“Knittelvers,”  Goethe’s  employ- 
ment  of,  ii.,  29,  and  iii.,  304/. 
Knittlingen,  iii.,  271 
Koblenz,  see  Coblenz 
Koch,  Max,  ii.,  441 


Koch,  actor,  i.,  257 
Koch,  Professor,  i.,  137;  iii.,  253 
Kochberg,  i.,  283,  301;  ii.,  79,  185 
Kochendörffer,  i.,  426 
Koegel,  i.,  435 
Koenigsberger,  L.,  iii.,  134 
Kohlrausch,  ii.,  453 
Kolmar,  i.,  139 
König,  Dr.,  i.,  157 
Königsberg,  i.,  iii;  ii.,  172 
Königsthal,  von,  i.,  23 
Konstantin,  Karl  August’s  father, 
i-,  256 

Konstantin,  Karl  August’s  brother, 
i-,  214,  258,  259 
Kopp,  ii.,  33 
Koppel,  E.,  iii.,  381 
Koran,  the,  ii.,  151 
Körner,  Gottfried,  i.,  69;  ii.,  78, 
93,  182,  183,  184,  186,  187,  191, 
196,  263,  431,  448, 454 
Körner,  Minna  ( nee  Stock),  i.,  69; 
ü-.  93 

Körner,  Theodor,  ii.,  431,  454 
Körner,  Theodor,  und  die  Seinen 
(Peschei- Wildenow),  ii.,  454 
Köster,  ii.,  449 
Kotzebue,  Amalie,  i.,  266 
Kotzebue,  i.,  266;  ii.,  335,  425, 
453!  iü-»  138,  139.  I4I>  142 
Kranz,  i.,  263 
Kraus,  i.,  263;  ii.,  346 
Kräuter,  i.,  427;  iii.,  164 
Krebel,  i.,  53 
Kreon,  ii.,  22 
Krespel,  i.,  183,  213 
Kreuchauf,  i.,  70 
Kriegk,  i.,  419 

Kritische  Wälder  (Herder),  i.,  112 
Krone,  die  (Corona  Schröter),  i., 
266 

Krüger,  ii.,  18,  32 
Kruse,  Heinrich,  i.,  427 
Kundling,  iii.,  171 
Kunst  und  Altertum,  i.,  417;  iii., 
148, 172 

Künstlers  Abendlied  ( Lied  des  physi- 
ognomischen  Zeichners ) , quota- 
tion  from,  i.,  403;  iii.,  47 
Künstlers  Vergötterung,  ii.,  448 
Küssnacht,  i.,  228;  ii.,  318 
“Kypsele,”  in  Pandora,  ii.,  401/. 

La  Damnation  de  Faust  (Berlioz), 

iii.,  376 

La  Mort  de  Cesar  (Voltaire),  ii.,  413 
La  Nouvelle  Heloise  (Rousseau),  i., 
201,  349 

La  Roche,  Chancellor  von,  i.,  310, 
312 

La  Roche,  Maximiliane  (Maxe),  i., 
188/.;  ii.,  114;  iii.,  7,  145 


4io 


1nfc>ex 


La  Roche,  Sophie,  i.,  146,  187,  215; 

hi-,  145 

La  Sposa  Rapita,  i.,  40 
Labor  es  Juveniles,  i.,  422 
Laertes,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, ii.,  229,  234 

Lago  di  Gar  da,  see  Lake  Gar  da 
Lago  Maggiore,  i.,  408;  ii.,  257; 
iii.,  22,  21 1 

Lahn,  the,  i.,  152,  155,  206;  ii.,  114 
Lahnberg,  the,  i.,  155 
Lahneck  castle,  i.,  206 
Lahr,  iii.,  26 
Laibach,  i.,  11 
Laidion  (Heinse),  i.,  208 
Lake  Como,  i.,  373 
Lake  Constance,  i.,  408;  ii.,  105 
Lake  Garda,  i.,  370,  408 
Lake  Geneva,  i.,  349;  iii-,  115 
Lake  of  the  Four  Forest  Cantons, 
h-,  3i7 

Lake  Zürich,  i.,  225,  226;  ii.,  314, 
318;  iii.,  215,  262 

Lamon,  character  in  Die  Laune 
des  Verliebten,  i.,  81/. 

Landau,  ii.,  114 

Ländlich,  iii.,  375 

Landolt,  i.,  420 

Landshut,  ii.,  92;  iii.,  103 

Lange,  Councillor,  i.,  154 

Lange,  Frau,  i.,  154,  166 

Lange,  Fräulein,  i.,  160 

Langensalza,  ii.,  119 

Langer,  i.,  79,  89;  iii.,  249,  250 

Langguth,  ii.,  451 

Langmesser,  ii.,  441 

Lannes,  Marshai,  ii.,  343 

Laokoon  (Lessing),  i.,  71,  74/.,  106, 

423 

Lasberg,  Christel  von,  iii.,  40 ff.,  59 
Lasinio,  Carlo,  iii.,  383 
Lassen,  iii.,  376 

“Lasst  fahren  hin  das  Allzuflüch- 
tige ” ( Zwischengesang  of  Zur 
Logenfeier  des  Dritten  Septembers 
1825),  iii.,  366 

Last  Supper,  The  (Leonardo  da 
Vinci),  i.,  407 

Latin,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  16,  30, 
39/--  48 ff. 

Lauchstädt,  ii.,  99,  322,  338,  445 
Lausanne,  i.,  349 
Lauterbrunnen,  i.,  347/. 

Lauth,  the  Misses,  i.,  97,  98 
Lavater,  i.,  1,  3,  204 ff.,  210,  211, 
225,  228,  246,  296,  316,  353, 
355,  356-  36°,  4i7,  420,  426,  430, 
432;  ii.,  114,  117,  122,  158,  159, 
207,  320,  441;  iii.,  5,  15,  82,  254 
Law,  the,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  29/., 
40,  50,  79,  94,  102;  his  father 
destines  him  for,  31,  40,  153,  and 


ii.,  33/.;  his  lack  of  love  for,  i., 
40,  46,  73,  and  iii.,  82;  his  ex- 
amination  in,  i.,  102;  his  disser- 
tation,  102,  138;  hispractice,  141, 
296;  his  knowledge  of,  2,  309/. 
Law,  John,  iii.,  332 
Le  Bourgeois  Gentilliomme  (Moliere) , 

11.,  420 

Leben  Blessigs  (Fritz),  i.,  426 
Leben  und  T od  der  heiligen  Genoveva 
(Tieck),  iii.,  144 

Leben  und  Verdienste  des  Joachim 
Jungius  (H.,  xxxiv.,  208  ff.), 

111.,  95/.,  131 

Lebendiges  Andenken,  iii.,  373 
Lebens  ge  schichte  (Jung-StiUing),  i., 
211 

Lebrun,  i.,  209;  iii.,  16 
Lecturer,  Goethe  a,  iii.,  127/. 

Leda,  iii.,  336 
Leghorn,  iii.,  186 

Lehrbuch  der  Meteorologie  (Kämtz), 

iii.,  117 

Leibnitz,  ii.,  171/. 

Leipsic,  i.,  1 1 , 31 , 40,  41-89,  91,  94, 
102,  103,  157,  254,  265,  421,  423, 
424,  425/-.  429;  ü-,  73>  93-  I23> 
183;  battle  of,  432/-;  445-  4541 

111.,  13,  47,  82,  138/.,  168,  249, 
251,  257,  286/.,  379 

Leipziger  Liederbuch  ( Neue  Lieder) , 

1.,  68,  86,  87,  425;  iii.,  373/. 
Lemures,  in  Faust,  iii.,  348 
Lenardo,  character  in  Wilhelm 

Meisters  Wanderjahre,  iii.,  206 /., 
211  ff-,  230 

Lengefeld,  Charlotte  von,  see  Schil- 
ler 

Lengefeld,  Karoline,  ii.,  184/. 
Lenore  (Bürger),  iii.,  52 
Lenz,  i.,  120/.,  170,  211,  215,  224, 
237,  291,  426,  427,  435',  iü-,  59 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  i.,  407 
Leonhard,  von,  iii.,  143 
Leonhardi,  i.,  423,  435 
Leonora  d’Este,  character  in  Tasso, 
i-,  334;  ü-,  35 ff-y  I38,  386,  441, 
443;  iii.,  224 

Leonora  of  Este,  Princess,  ii.,  34 
Leonora  San  vitale,  character  in 
Tasso,  ii.,  35 ff.,  441,  442 
Leopold  II.,  ii.,  89 
Lerse,  Franz,  i.,  98,  119,  120,  139 
Lersner,  i.,  419 

Lessing,  i.,  41,  49,  68,  71,  74 ff-, 
79,  106,  107,  110,  iii,  157,  174, 
177/.,  199/.,  248,  266,  423,  429 /•> 
433;  ü-,  27 ff-,  I71-  205,  208,  259, 
325,  327;  iii.,  1 70 ; his  Faust,  274, 

295,  381 : 302 

Leuchsenring,  i.,  145/. 

Levetzow,  Amalie  von,  iii.,  155 


1nfcei 


Levetzow,  Bertha  von,  iii.,  155 
Levetzow,  Frau  von,  iii.,  155,  158, 
160, 161 

Levetzow,  Ulrike  von,  iii.,  155-161, 
379 

Lewes,  i.,  160;  ii. , 14,  440 
Lexis,  iii.,  97 
Leyden,  i.,  iii 

Licentiate,  Goethe  a,  instead  of 
doctor,  i.,  138 

Lida  (Frau  von  Stein),  iii.,  184 
Liebetraut,  character  in  Götz,  i. , 
172 

Lieder  im  Volkston  (Schulz),  iii., 
375 

Lieschen,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 
292,  296 

Lila  (Fräulein  von  Ziegler),  i., 
146 

Lili,  see  Elisabeth  Schönemann 
Lilis  Park,  i.,  231 
Limmat,  the,  i.,  353;  ii.,  320 
Limprecht,  i.,  71,  96 
Limpurg,  house  of,  i.,  8 
Lindau,  Baron  von,  i.,  348 
Lindau,  Meyer  von,  i.,  98 
Lindenau,  Count  von,  i.,  64 ff. 
Lindheimer,  attorney,  i.,  10 
Lindheimer,  Anna  Margaretha,  i., 
10 

Lindpaintner,  iii.,  376 

Linne  (Linnaeus),  ii.,  157;  iii.,  96, 

.r°5/:. 

Linz,  iii.,  1 1 
Lisbon,  i.,  20 
Liszt,  iii.,  376 

Literarische  Zustände  und  Zeitge- 
nossen (Böttiger),  i.,  436;  ii,. 

272,  453 

Literarischer  Sanskulottismus,  ii., 
205 

Literaturbriefe  (Lessing),  i.,  76 
LitolfT,  iii.,  376 
Litorale  di  Lido,  ii.,  88 
Lives  (Plutarch),  iii.,  360 
Livonia,  iii.,  253 
Lobeda,  ii.,  331 
Löbichau,  ii.,  417 

Loder,  i.,  362;  ii.,  203,  335;  iii.,  83, 
89,  90 

Loeper,  i.,  78,  420,  423;  ii.,  441, 
454;  iü-,  379 
Loewe,  iii.,  374/. 

Löhlen,  iii.,  374 

London,  i.,  264,  311;  iii.,  174,  192 
Longuyon,  ii.,  113 
Longwy,  ii.,  109/.,  113 
Lord’s  Supper,  the,  i.,  67,  138 
Lorraine,  i.,  100;  ii.,  273 
Lothario,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  ii.,  247/7,  261,  267;  iii., 
195,  199,  207,  219/.,  222,224 


411 

Lotte,  character  in  Werther,  i., 
igoff.',  ii.,  250,  297;  iii.,  211 
Louis  XV.,  iii.,  344 
Louis  XVI.,  ii.,  10 3/.,  118,  193 
Lower  Alsatia,  i.,  99 
Lower  Bavaria,  i.,  322 
Lower  Saxony,  i.,  312 
Lübeck,  ii.,  408 
Luceme,  i.,  353 

Luciane,  character  in  Die  Wahlver - 
wa-ndtschaften,  ii.,  356 ff. 

Lucidor,  character  in  Wer  ist  der 
Verräter?,  iii.,  202/. 

Lucinde,  character  in  Wer  ist  der 
Verräter? , iii.,  202/. 

Ludecus,  i.,  263;  ii.,  444 
Luden,  ii.,  154,  424,  426,  430;  iii., 
I37 

Ludwig,  i.,  45,  49,  103 
Luise,  Queen  of  Prussia,  ii.,  426 
Luise  (Voss),  ii.,  208,  282,  304, 
3°8,  3°9>  385 

Luise,  Grand  Duchess,  i.,  223,  232, 
260,  263/.,  266,  273,  285 ff.;  ii., 
35.  343/-.  414.440;  in.,  165,  180, 
i8if.  184 /.,  258 
Lüneberg  Heath,  iii.,  164 
Luther,  i.,  418,  428;  ii.,  153;  iii., 
149,  150,  151,  272,  305,  368,  379 
Lützelstein,  i.,  100 
Lützow,  ii.,  431 
Luxemburg,  ii.,  109,  113,  449 
Lycurgus,  i.,  150 

Lydie,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, iii.,  222/. 

Lyell,  Charles,  iii.,  114 
Lyon,  i.,  78,  147 

Machiavelli,_ii.,  27;  iii.,  254 
Mächtiges  Überraschen,  quotation 
from,  ii.,  404 

Macpherson,  i.,  115;  see  Ossian 
Macrocosm,  the,  in  Faust,  iii.,  278 
Magdeburg,  ii.,  327 
Magic,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  93; 
see  Faust 

Magic  Flute,  The  (Mozart),  ii.,  286 
Mahadeva,  iii.,  19,  56,  57 
Mahomet,  i.,  170,  183 
Mahomet,  i.,  204,  210,  246/.;  ii.,  273 
Mahomet  (Voltaire),  ii.,  321,  41 1 
Mahomets  Gesang,  i.,  247;  iii.,  47, 
62 

Mahr,  ii.,  108 

Mailied  ("Wie  herrlich  leuchtet  mir 
die  Natur”),  i.,  118,  130;  iii., 
47,  375, 376 

Mailied  (‘  Zwischen  Weizen  und 
Korn”),  iii.,  376 

Main,  the,  i.,  14,  96,  143,  180,  273, 
279;  ii.,  128;  iii.,  3,  12,  14,  16, 
17,  27 


412 


Anbei 


Mainz,  i.,  141,  214/.,  310,  311;  ii. , 
109,  114,  118/.,  199,  217,  449; 

iii.,  17,  141 , 142,  261 
Mainz,  Elector  of,  ii. , 115,  128 
Majolicas,  Goethe’s  collection  of, 

111. , 163 

Makarie,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre),  iii.,  192, 
2 03/jF.,  222/.,  225,  245,  380 
Malcolmi,  ii.,  124 
Malcolmi,  Amalie,  ii.,  445 
Mannheim,  i.,  122,  223,  376,  429; 

11.,  119,  183,  281,  450 
Manso,  ii.,  34 
Mantegna,  i.,  373;  ii.,  88 

Manto,  character  in  Faust,  iii.,  338 
Mantua,  ii.,  88 
Manzoni,  iii.,  173 
Marcellus,  iii.,  382 
Märchen  vom  neuen  Paris,  i.,  35 
Maremme,  in  Italy,  iii.,  260 
Maret,  Minister,  ii.,  411 
Margaret,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 
273;  see  Gretchen 

Margaret  of  Parma,  character  in 
Egmont,  i.,  330,  335 
Marggraf,  ii.,  450 
Maria  Luise,  ii.,  418 
Maria  Paulowna,  ii.,  337,  349,  409; 

111.,  165 

“Mariagespiel,”  the,  i.,  213,  235 
Marianne,  character  in  Die  Ge- 
schwister, ii.,  213;  iii.,  12 
Marianne,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  ii.,  218 ff.,  250/.,  266,  362, 
448;  iii.,  12 

Marie,  character  in  Clavigo,  i.,  136, 
236/.,  242 

Marie,  character  in  Das  Mädchen 
von  Oberkirch,  ii.,  127 
Marie,  character  in  Götz,  i.,  136, 
I71ff-<  237;  iii.,  256 
Marie,  Princess,  iii.,  165 
Marie  Antoinette,  i.,  122;  ii.,  104 
Marienbad,  iii.,  155 ff.,  225 
'*■  Marienbad  Elegie,  ii.,  71;  iii.,  51; 
quotation  from,  158;  160 
Marlowe,  iii.,  271,  273,  275,  381 
Märten,  character  in  Der  Burger - 
general,  ii.,  123 

Martha,  character  in  Faust,  iii.,  275, 
289  ff. 

Martial,  ii.,  208 
Martigny,  i.,  351 

Martin,  Brother,  character  in  Götz, 
i-  173.  1 79 

Martin  Luther,  oder  die  Weihe  der 
Kraft  (Werner),  ii.,  350 
Marx,  Parson,  iii.,  26 
Mary,  Virgin,  in  Faust,  iii.,  351 
März,  iii.,  376 

Masuren  (von  Gou6),  i.,  157,  187 


Mater  Gloriosa,  in  Faust,  iii.,  352 
Mathematics,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i., 
16,  19,  308 

Maximen  und  Reflexionen  über 
Kunst,  quotation  from,  iii.,  101 
Maximilian,  character  in  German- 
Latin  colloquy,  i.,  32 
Maximilian,  Emperor,  i.,  33 
Meckelsburg,  the,  i.,  155 
Mecklenburg,  i.,  156 
Mecklenburg-Strelitz,  Grand  Duke 
of,  iii.,  183 

Medals,  Goethe’s  collection  of,  iii., 
163,  180 
Medea,  ii.,  440 

Medicine,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  79, 
93.  io3>  *3 7!  iü- » 82 
Medicis,  the,  ii.,  56 
Mediterranean  Sea,  the,  i.,  373;  ii., 
190 

Medon  (Clodius),  i.,  65 
Medwin,  iii.,  266 
Meeresstille,  iii.,  373,  376 
Mefistofele  (Boito),  iii.,  376 
“Mein  Erbteil  wie  herrlich,!’  etc. 
(from  West-östlicher  Divan),  iii., 
226 

“Meine  Ruh  ist  hin”  (from  Fatist), 
iü-.  375.  376 

Meiningen,  i.,  224;  iii.,  27 
Meiringen,  i.,  348 
Meisenheim,  iii.,  26 
Melanchthon,  iii.,  271 
Melina,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, ii.,  220 ff.,  265,  266 
Melina,  Frau,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  ii.,  220 ff. 

Melusine,  i.,  153 

Memoire  (Beaumarchais),  i.,  235 ff. 
Memoires  historiques  de  Stephanie- 
Louise  de  Bourbon-Conti,  ii., 
132 

Mendelssohn,  Felix,  iii.,  36,  166, 
374/- 

Mendelssohn,  Moses,  i.,  429 
Menelaus,  ii.,  4;  iii.,  339,  342,  344 
Mengs,  ii.,  325 

Mephisto,  character  in  Berlioz’s 
Damnation  de  Faust,  iii.,  376 
Mephistopheles,  character  in  Faust, 
i-,  2,  144,  345;  ii-.  123,  209;  iii., 
168,  257,  275,  2&2ff.,  381/.;  in  the 
puppet  play,  251/. 

Mer  de  Glace,  the,  i.,  351 
Merck,  Johann  Heinrich,  i.,  64, 
143 ff-,  152,  155.  I57.  164,  16677., 
i75.  i83.  188, 189,205,  2x2,  223, 
229,  236/.,  239,  251,  267 /.,  300, 
3IO> 3*6,  319,  345.  357. 359. 361. 
365,  423,  427/-,  429.  43Ü  n-. 
168,  211,  442;  iii.,  83,  87 ff.,  91, 
1x4,  257,  2S6,  376 


Unfrei 


413 


Merckbriefe  [vol.  i. — Briefe  an  J. 
H.  Merck ; vol.  ii. — Briefe  an  und 
von  J.  H.  Merck;  vol.  iii. — Briefe 
aus  dem  Freundeskreise  von 
Goethe,  Herder  und  Merck ] (Wag- 
ner), i.,  423 
Mercury,  ii.,  331 
Mereau,  Sophie,  ii.,  203 
Merian,  ii.,  453 
Merkel,  ii.,  423 

Merkur,  see  Der  deutsche  Merkur 
Merseburg,  i.,  88;  ii.,  99 
Mesmer,  ii.,  368 
Messina,  i.,  400 

Metamorphose  der  Pflanzen,  see 
Versuch  die  Metamorphose,  etc. 
Metamorphose  der  Tiere,  quota- 
tions  from,  ii.,  160,  161,  and  iii., 

87 

Metamorphosis  of  plants,  Goethe’s 
discovery  of,  i.,  362;  ii.,  169, 
195;  iii.,  87,  91  ff.,  112,  377 
Metaphysische  Anfangsgründe  der 
Naturwissenschaft  (Kant),  ii.,  177 
Meteorology,  Goethe’s  study  of,  iii., 
116/.,  173,  182 

Method,  Goethe’s  scientific,  iii., 
izgff. 

Metternich,  iii.,  154 
Metz,  Dr.,  i.,  93 
Meuse,  the,  ii.,  1x2 
Meyer,  C.  F.,  iii.,  305 
Meyer,  Heinrich,  i.,  388,  403,  407; 

ii.,  88,  93,  120,  306,  310,  312 ff., 
31 7>  3r9>  32°>  322>  325 ff-,  329, 

330,  332,  344,  346,  351,  353, 

450;  iii.,  7,  29,  165,  170,  172,  262 
Meyer  von  Lindau,  i.,  98/. 
Meyer-Cohn,  i.,  433 
Michels,  Viktor,  ii.,  441 
Mignon,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, i.,  141,  228,  366,  372,  408; 

11.,  230 ff.,  250,  253 ff.,  264,  265, 
448;  in.,  12,  190,  211,  375,  376 

Mignon  (“Kennst  du  das  Land”), 

1.,  227/;  iii.,  19,  69,  72,  375,  376 
Milan,  i.,  255,  271,  402,  407,  437; 

111.,  174 

Milky  Way,  the,  i.,  351 
Milton,  ii.,  446 

Mineralogy,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i., 
361,  396,  398;  iii.,  98,  112 
Minerals,  Goethe’s  collection  of, 

iii.,  163 

Minerva,  i.,  247 
Minerva,  Cape,  i.,  401 
Minna  von  Barnhelm  (Lessing),  i., 
59,  62,  68,  76/.,  174/.,  178 
Minnesingers,  the,  i.,  137 
Minor,  i.,  425;  iii.,  382 
Mirabeau,  ii.,  142 
“Misel,”  i.,  279 


Miss  Sarah  Sampson  (Lessing),  i., 
61,  62 

Mississippi,  the,  iii.,  177 
Missolonghi,  iii.,  265,  267/.,  341 
Mit  einem  gemalten  Band,  i.,  130; 

iii.,  44,  376 

“Mit  Flammenschrift  war  innigst 
eingeschrieben,”  see  Epoche 
Mitteilungen  des  Vereins  f.  Gesch., 
etc.,  i.,  419 

Mitteilungen  über  Goethe  (Riemer), 
“•>  377.  444;  üi-,  328 
Mitteilungen  über  Goethe  und  seinen 
Freundeskreis  (Dembowsky),  iii., 
379 

Mittler,  character  in  Die  Wahlver- 
wandtschaften, ii.,  360 ff. 

Möbius,  ii.,  452 
Modern  Philology,  i.,  427 
Mohammed  II.,  iii.,  175 
Moliere,  i.,  22;  ii.,  420 
Möller,  Goethe’s  assumed  name  on 
his  Italian  journey,  i.,  369 
Molsheim,  i.,  139 
Monad,  ii.,  171 
Monastery,  Goethe’s,  iii.,  163 
Monbrisson,  Maria  von,  ii.,  450 
Mont  Blanc,  i.,  350 
Montan  (Jarno),  character  in  Wil- 
helm Meister,  iii.,  198 
Montan vert,  i.,  351 
Monte  Rosa,  i.,  339 
Monte  Rosso,  i.,  399 
Moors,  Max,  i.,  19/.,  37,  40,  43,  53, 
54 

Moralische  Abhandlungen  (Salz- 
mann), i.,  211 
Moravianism,  i.,  92 
Morhof,  i.,  30,  421 
Mörilce,  iii.,  79 

Moritz,  director  of  the  Chancery,  i., 
23 

Moritz,  legation  councillor,  i.,  19, 

96 

Moritz,  K.  P.,  i.,  388,  407;  ii.,  186 
Morphology,  Goethe’s  contribu- 
tions  to,  iii.,  104 ff. 

Morris,  Max,  ii.,  451;  iii.,  382 
Morus,  i.,  46,  49,  65,  80 
Moscow,  ii.,  420;  iii.,  2 
Moser,  i.,  310;  ii.,  241 
Möser,  i.,  214,  311/.;  iii.,  253,  254 
Moses,  i.,  114,  115;  ii. , 27;  iii.,  250 
Moses  (Christian  Brion),  i.,  124 
Moses  (Michael  Angelo),  i.,  386 
Mothers,  the,  in  Faust,  iii.,  334/., 
355.  382 
Motz,  iii.,  16 

Mouan,  Castle  of,  i.,  420/. 

Moutier,  i.,  347 
Mozart,  iii.,  374 /. 

Müchler,  iii.,  375 


414 


Unfcer 


Mühlberg,  the,  iii.,  13,  27 
Mühlhausen,  i.,  357 
Mühlheim,  i.,  207 

Müller,  Chancellor  Friedrich  von, 

ii. ,  410/.,  428,  444,  448,  453;  iii., 
159/.,  165,  169  ff.,  177,  179/., 

366,  379/. 

Müller,  Johannes  (scientist),  iii.,  128 
Müller,  Johannes  von  (historian), 

11.,  330,  422 

Müller,  K.  W.,  iii.,  93,  385 
Münch,  Anna  Sibylla,  i.,Ji 83 , 213 /., 
23S.  240,  43° 

Münchhausen,  Min  ster  von,  i.,  264 
Münchow,  i.,  420 

Munich,  i.,  369,  433;  ii.,  445;  iii., 
174 

Münster,  i.,  325;  ii.,  116/. 

Münster  (Switzerland),  i.,  347 
Münstertal,  the,  i.,  347 
Münter,  ii.,  444 
Musarion  (Wieland),  i.,  78 
Musäus,  i.,  262 

Musenalmanach  (Boie),  i.,  21 1 
Musenalmanach  (Schiller),  ii.,  208, 
209 

Music,  i.,  16,  30,  55,  68,  189,  216, 
404/. ; iii.,  166;  in  Goethe’s  poetry, 

111.,  76 ff. 

Mycenae,  ii.,  4 

Myology,  Goethe’s  study  of,  iii.,  83 
Mysticism,  i.,  3,  93,  108;  iii.,  273 
Mythenstöcke,  the,  i.,  227 

Nach  Falkonet  und  über  Falkonet,  i., 
431 

“Nachahmung  der  Natur”  ( Stu- 
dien,),  i.,  412 
Nachgefühl,  iii.,  376 
Nachodine,  heroine  of  Das  nuss- 
braune Mädchen,  iii.,  190,  206 ff., 
211,  215/.,  223 
Nachtgesang,  iii.,  376 
Nahe,  the,  ii.,  109,  118 
Nähe  des  Geliebten,  iii.,  375,  376 
Nanny,  character  in  Die  Wahlver- 
wandtschaften, ii.,  373 
Naples,  i.,  11,  395 ff-,  400 ff.,  405, 
408,  413,  437;  ii.,  37,  424;  iii., 
92,  97,  187,  378 

Napoleon,  i.,  3,  201,  264;  ii.,  132, 

3i6>  3i8,  34 off.,  34 3ff-,  388.  395. 
401,  408-414,  418/f.,  428,  432, 
453,  454;  in-,  1 /-,  14,  135.  I75 
Narciss,  character  in  Confessions  of 
a Beautiful  Soul,  ii.,  239,  241 
Nassau,  ii.,  341;  iii.,  15 
Nassau  Castle,  iii.,  15,  16 
Natalie,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, ii.,  247/.,  254/. ,265,  386,  448/. ; 

iii.,  190,  195,  203/.,  212,  2i6, 
224/. 


Nathan  der  Weise  (Lessing),  ii., 
2 7 ff- 

National  Assembly,  the,  of  France, 

11.,  102,  104 

Naturalist,  Goethe  the,  iii.,  81  ff. 
Nature,  Goethe’s  attitude  toward, 

1.,  70,  94,  108,  116,  118,  119, 
154^-,  167,  279/.,  297;  ii.,  77;  iii., 
81  ff- 

Naturalism,  i.,  279 
Nauheim,  ii.,  451 
Naumburg,  i.,  41,  302 
Nausicaa,  i.,  162 

Nausikaa,  i.,  397,  399,  406,  410;  iii., 
92 

Nazarenism,  iii.,  147 
Necessity,  i.,  135;  ii.,  159/7.,  189 
Neckar,  the,  ii.,  183,  281 
Necker,  i.,  145 
Nemesis  (Luden),  iii.,  137 
Neoplatonism,  i.,  93 
Neptunists,  the,  iii.,  113/7.,  212,  338 
Netherlands,  the,  i.,  207 
Nette,  see  Anna  Katharina  Schön - 
köpf 

Nettesheim,  Agrippe  von,  iii.,  271 
N eudeutsche  religiös  - patriotische 

Kunst,  iii.,  143 

Neue  Erdbeschreibung  (Büsching), 

1.,  418/. 

Neue  Götter  ge  spräche  (Wieland), 

11.,  1 12 

Neue  Liebe,  neues  Leben,  quotation 
from,  i.,  218;  iii.,  376 
Neue  Lieder,  see  Leipziger  Lieder- 
buch 

Neuhauss,  Demoiselle,  i.,  266 
Neuhof,  i.,  35 

Neujahrslied,  i.,  425;  iii.,  374 
Neumann,  Christiane,  ii.,  96/.,  318 
Neuwied,  i.,  206/.;  iii.,  16 
New  Harmony,  iii.,  192 
Newspapers,  Goethe’s  reading  of, 

111.,  174/. 

Newton,  ii.,  ggf.,  208,  323;  iii., 
122  ff.,  127 

Ney,  Marshai,  ii.,  343 
Nicaragua  Canal,  the,  iii.,  174 
Nicknames,  Goethe’s,  see  Wolf, 
Wölfehen,  Bear,  Huron,  Indian 
Nicolai,  i.,  259;  ii.,  208,  264,  425, 
453;  iii.,  257,  281 
Nicolovius,  Alfred,  iii.,  380 
Niebuhr,  iii.,  175 
Niederbronn,  i.,  100,  122,  376 
Niederrossla,  ii.,  342 
Niejahr,  J.,  iii.,  382 
Niethammer,  ii.,  203 
Nietzsche,  iii.,  2S1 
“Night — Open  Field,”  scene  in 
Faust,  iii.,  261 

Night  Thoughts  (Young),  i.,  259 


Unfrei 


415 


Niklas,  character  in  Die  Fischerin, 

iii.,  60 

Niobe,  group,  ii.,  383 
Nobility,  Goethe’s  patent  of,  i.,  317 
Nöllen,  J.  S.,  i.,  428,  429 
Norberg,  character  in  Wilhelm. 

Meister,  ii.,  218 ff.,  251 
Nord  und  Süd,  i.,  431 
Nordhausen,  i.,  338 
Nördlingen,  i.,  433 
Normality,  in  Goethe’s  poetry,  iii., 
34  ff- 

North  Carolina,  iii.,  380 
North  Sea,  the,  iii.,  117 
Norway,  iii.,  35 
Nöthnitz,  i.,  261 

Notre  Dame  de  Paris  (Hugo),  iii., 
174,  360 

Nouveau  Christianisme  (Saint-Si- 
mon),  iii.,  192 

Nouveaux  Principes  d’  Economie 
Politique  (Sismondi),  iii.,  192 
Novalis,  ii.,  263/.;  iii.,  144,  150 
Novelle,  iii.,  172 
Numa,  i.,  150 

“ Nun  du  mir  lässiger  dienst  ” (from 
Römische  Elegien),  i.,  41 1 
“Nun  glühte  seine  Wange  rot  und 
röter  ” (from  Epilog  zu  Schillers 
“ Glocke  ”),  ii.,  194 
“Nun  wird,  Ihm  selbst  aufs  herr- 
lichste zu  lohnen,”  iii.,  180 
“Nur  dies  Herz,  es  ist  von  Dauer” 
(from  Buch  Suleikd),  iii.,  24 
“ Nur  Luft  und  Licht  ” ( cf . Düntzer, 
Goethes  Eintritt  in  Weimar,  71), 

iii. ,  179 

“Nur  wer  die  Sehnsucht  kennt,” 

111.,  376 

Nuremberg,  i.,  169,  171,  172,  408; 

11.,  105,  320,  450 

“O,  dass  die  innre  Schöpfungs- 
kraft” (from  Künstlers  Abend- 
lied), i.,  403 

O’Donnell,  Countess,  ii.,  4x9,  432 
“Ob’s  Unrecht  ist,  was  ich  emp- 
finde” (Frau  von  Stein),  i.,  302 f. 
Oberkirch,  Frau  von,  i.,  428 
Oberland,  the,  in  Weimar,  i.,  314 
Oberlin,  i.,  137;  iii.,  253 
Obermann,  Fräulein,  i.,  59/.,  62, 68, 
77 

“Oberon  and  Titania’s  Golden 
Wedding”  (in  Faust),  ii.,  209 
Ober postamts zeitung  (Frankfort),  iii. 
8 

Oberrossla,  ii.,  323,  450 
Ober-Steinberg,  i.,  348 
Oberwald,  i.,  352 

Ode  an  Herrn  Professor  Zachariä,  i., 
425 


Oden  (Klopstock),  i.,  21 1 
Odilienberg,  ii.,  355 
Odoard,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ters Wanderjahre,  iii.,  221,  226, 
234 

Odysseus,  i.,  398 

Oeser,  Friederike,  i.,  68,  70,  76,  77, 
79,  89,  116,  376 

Oeser,  Friederike,  i.,  68,  70,  89,  93 
Ottenbach,  i.,  220/.,  230/.,  241; 

11.,  279;  iii.,  270 
Offenbar  Geheimnis,  iii.,  3 
Offenburg,  iii.,  26 

Offne  Tafel,  iii.,  51 
‘ ‘ Ohne  Wein  kann  ’s  uns  auf  Er  den , ” 

1.,  225 

Oken,  iii.,  137 f.,  141 
Olaf,  Herr,  in  Erlkönigs  Tochter, 
üh,  59 

Oldenburg,  ii.,  441 
Olearius,  character  in  Götz,  i.,  179 
Olenschlager,  von,  i.,  19,  309;  ii., 
241 

Oliva,  character  in  Egmont,  i.,  333 
Olivia  (Marie  Salomea  Brion)  i., 
124, 128 

Olympian,  Goethe  the,  i.,  413;  iii., 


194 

Olympus,  i.,  344;  ii.,  18,  21 
Ophelia,  iii.,  302 

Oppositionsblatt  (Bertuch),  iii.,  137 
Optics,  see  theory  of  colour 
Optische  Beiträge,  see  Beiträge  zur 
Optik 

Orange,  character  in  Egmont,  i., 
3 3°ff- 

Orator  (Cicero),  i.,  48 
Orbis  Picius  (Comenius),  i.,  16,  420 
Orestes,  character  in  Iphigenie,  i., 
300,  385;  ii.,  1 ff.,  48,  247,  440,452; 
iii.,  45,  176 

Orestes,  character  in  Euripides, 


11.,  4 

Orient,  the,  ii.,  432 
Origin  of  Species  (Darwin),  iii.,  378 
Orology,  Goethe’s  theory  of,  i.,  361 
Orpheus,  iii.,  338 
Orphic  poems,  i.,  29 
“Os  intermaxillare,”  see  inter- 
maxillary 
Osnabrück,  i.,  31 1 
Osnabrücker  Intelligenzblatt,  iii.,  253 
Ossian,  i.,  109,  114,  115,  117,  118, 
119,  122,  142,  193,  384;  iii.,  250, 


276 

Ostade,  i.,  162 

Osteology,  Goethe’s  study  of,  iii., 
82/.,  93 

Ottilie,  character  in  Die  Wahlver- 
wandtschaften, ii.,  354 ff-,  374 ff-, 
452 ; iii.,  26 

Ottilienberg,  the,  i.,  139 


4i6 


Anbei 


Ottingen,  ii. , 270 

Ovid,  i.,  406 

Owen,  Robert,  iii.,  192 

Pacific  Ocean,  ii.,  265;  iii.,  2 
Padua,  i.,  373,  377,  391 ; ii.,  88;  iii., 
290 

Paestum,  i.,  396,  399 
Painting,  Goethe’s  study  of  and 
interest  in,  i.,  70 ff.,  167,  209/., 
37 3#-.  40 3/.,  409;  ii.,  87,  216;  iii., 
7,  98,  ggf.,  120 ff. 

Palace,  the,  of  Weimar,  i.,  255,  271; 
ü-,  322>  332 

Palaeontology,  Goethe’s  interest  in, 

1.,  100;  iii.,  108,  115 
Paläophron  und  Neoterpe,  ii.,  333 
Palatinate,  the,  i.,  234,  310,  345; 

ü-,  343 

Palermo,  i.,  397#.,  437 i io5: 
iü-,  92-  378 

Palladio,  i.,  372,  375 ff.;  ii.,  87 
Palma  di  Goethe,  in  Padua,  i.,  373 
Panama  Canal,  the,  iii.,  174 
Pandora,  heroine  of  the  drama,  i., 
247;  ii.,  388 ff.;  iii.,  155 
Pandora,  ii.,  128,  273,  353,  388- 
404,  452/.;  quotation  from,  iii., 
110 264 

Pandorens  Wiederkunft,  ii.,  388 
Pantheism,  Goethe’s, i.,  93,  208;  ii., 
156 ff.;  iii.,  235/.,  291/.,  363/. 
Pantheon,  the, in  Rome,  i.,  385,387, 
438 

Paolo  Veronese,  ii.,  87 
Parabase,  quotation  from,  iii.,  85 
Paracelsus,  i.,  93;  iii.,  271,  336 
Paradise  Lost  (Milton),  ii.,  446 
Paria,  iii.,  55/.,  63/.,  374 
“Paries,”  iii.,  117 
Paris,  i.,  94,  iii,  120,  139,  232,  263, 
311;  ii.,  102/.,  110,  119,  120,  151, 
x93>  275> 293.  344,  413»  422,  427, 
434;  in-,  17°.  i74,  i75»  36° 

Paris,  hero,  iii.,  334 
Parma,  i.,  402,  407 
“Parodiert  sich  drauf  als  Doktor 
Faust”  (Einsiedel),  iii.,  258 
Parthenon,  the,  i.,  396,  404;  iii.,  11 
Parthenope,  i.,  396 
Parzenlied  (in  Iphigenie ),  ii.,  21,  31; 

see  Gesang  der  Parzen 
Parzival,  ii.,  262 
Pasqu6,  ii.,  445 

Passavant,  i.,  225,  227,  228;  ii.,  317 
Pater  Brey,  i.,  146,  204 
Pater  Profundus,  in  Faust,  iii., 
35? 

Patriotische  Phantasien  (Möser),  i., 
214,  311  iii.,  253 
Patriotism,  Goethe’s,  i.,  104/.,  120; 

11.,  428 ff.;  iii.,  150 


Paulus,  ii.,  172,  203,  317,  335;  iii., 
10 

Paulus,  Karoline,  ii.,  203 
Paulus  (Reichlin-Meldegg),  ii., 

150 

Peasants’  War,  the,  i.,  171;  iii.,  329 
“Pedagogical  province,”  the,  in 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre, 

111.,  207/.,  223,  230/f. 
Peloponnesus,  the,  iii.,  267 
Pempelfort,  i.,  208,  209,  212;  ii.,  114 
Penelope,  i.,  162 

Penn,  William,  iii.,  199 
Perfection,  Goethe’s  doctrine  of, 

11.,  160 

Pericles,  ii.,  202 
Persia,  iii.,  2 ff.,  144 
Perugia,  i.,  382 
Peschei,  ii.,  454 
Pestalozzi,  iii.,  36,  228 ff. 

Peter,  iii.,  272,  363 
Peter  the  Martyr  (Titian),  i.,  438 
Petrarch,  ii.,  42,  351,  352 
Pfeil,  Councillor,  i.,  53 
Pfenninger,  i.,  225;  ii.,  158 
Pfingstweide,  the,  i.,  20 
PhaecLrus  (Plato),  i.,  421 
Phanias,  character  in  Musarion,  i., 
78 

Phänomen,  quotation  from,  iii.,  4 
Pharsalus,  iii.,  337 
Philemon,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 
345 

“Philemon  and  Baucis,”  scene  in 
Faust,  iii.,  270 

Phileros,  character  in  Pandora,  ii., 
394#- 

Philhellenism,  iii.,  170 
Philine,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, ii.,  170,  229,  265/.;  iii.,  222/. 
Philinte,  iii.,  47 
Philipp,  Goethe’s  valet,  i.,  297 
Philipp  Hackert,  ii.,  417 
Philo,  character  in  Confessions  of 
a Beautiful  Soul,  ii.,  240/. 
Philology,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  94 
Philosophia  Botanica  (Linne),  iii., 
106 

Philosophie  der  Geschickte  (Hegel), 

ii.,  148 

Philosophy,  Goethe’s,  i.,  29,  50,  79, 
92/.;  ii-,  156-181, 187/., 324, 446/. ; 
in-,  173 

Phoebus,  i.,  167 
Phoebus  Apollo,  iii.,  61 
Phorcyd,  Mephistopheles  a,  iii., 
339V- 

Phyllis,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, ii.,  239 ff. 

Phyllis,  iii.,  47 

Physics,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  50; 

ii.,  99,  323;  see  colour 


Anbei 


417 


Physiognomische  Fragmente  (Lava- 
ter),  i.,  204,  211,  225,  228,  246, 
420;  iii. , 82 

Physiognomische  Fragmente,  iii.,  82 
Physiognomische  Reisen  (Musäus), 

1.,  262 

Physiognomische  Reisen,  quotation 
from,  i.,  262 

Physiognomy,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i., 
204,  225,  228,  246,  420;  iii.,  5, 
82 

Pierson,  iii.,  376 
Pieta  (Michael  Angelo),  i.,  386 
Pietism,  in  Frankfort,  i.,  200 
Pilgers  Morgenlied,  i.,  147;  iii.,  47, 
61,  376 

Pindar,  i.,  115,  142,  143,  147,  153, 
376 

Pisa,  iii.,  383 

Pitture  al  Fresco  del  Campo  Santo 
(Lasinio),  iii.,  383 

Plaques,  Goethe’s  collection  of,  iii., 
163 

Piaster  casts,  Goethe’s  collection 
of,  iii.,  163 

Plato,  i.,  29,  421;  ii.,  42,  206,  399; 

111.,  127,  234,  334,  378 

“ Pleasure-Garden,”  scene  in  Faust, 

iii.,  269 

Pleiades,  the,  i.,  351 
Pleisse,  the,  i.,  41,  91,  425 
Pleissenburg,  the,  i.,  70 
Pless,  i.,  434 

Plessing,  i.,  338;  iii.,  38,  41 
Plotho,  Baron  von,  i.,  24 
Plutarch,  iii.,  334,  360,  382 
Pniower,  ii.,  449;  iii.,  381 
Po,  the,  ii.,  86 

Poems  of  a Polish  Jew,  see  Gedichte 
eines  polnischen  Juden 
Poet,  Goethe  the,  i.,  6,  24 ff.,  31,  38, 
47/-.  52 f-,  54/-,  80,  86,  11 3#., 
I43>  I53>  l68,  357.  3 63,  4°9I  Ü-, 
33/.,  84,  216,  227,  271  ff.,  332/., 
441 ; iii.,  30-80,  1 76;  see  poetry 
Poetics  (Aristotle),  i.,  423 
Poetry,  theory  of,  i.,74^.,  109, 113/., 
188,  231,  328/.;  ii.,  70 f.,  73,  167/., 
169/.,  389,  449;  iii.,  33#.,  368/., 
373.  374 ff-',  see  poet 
Pogwisch,  Ottilie  von,  see  Goethe 
Poland,  ii.,  92,  424 
Polarity,  Goethe’s  theory  of,  ii., 
177;  iii.,  126 f. 

Political  economy,  Goethe’s  study 
of,  iii.,  173 

Politics,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  19, 
309#.;  iii.,  174/. 

Polyhistor,  etc.  (Morhof),  i.,  421 
Pomerania,  i.,  52 
Pompeii,  i.,  396 
Pontine  Swamps,  the,  i.,  395 


Pope,  the,  i.,  394 
Portici  Museum,  i.,  396 
Porto  del  Popolo,  Rome,  i.,  407 
Portugal,  i.,  24,  321 
Posdorf,  ii.,  275 
Potsdam,  i.,  259 

Prayer,  Goethe’s  attitude  toward, 

i.,  18,  158,  287/.;  ii.,  170 
“Prelude,”  the,  to  Faust,  iii.,  34, 
67,  296,  308/. 

Pre-Raphaelites,  the,  iii.,  147 
Primce  Linece  Isagoges,  etc.  (Gesner) , 

1.,  421 

Prime  minister,  Goethe  the,  iii.,  136 
Primrose,  family  in  The  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  i.,  124 

Principal  Decree  of  the  Imperial 
Deputation,  iii.,  135 
Principes  de  Philosophie  Zoologique 
par  Geoffroy  de  Saint-Hilaire, 
Goethe’s  review  of,  iii.,  110 
Prinzesschen,  the,  i.,  395 
“Prison,”  scene  in  Faust,  i.,  334; 

111.,  261,  275,  296,  301  ff.,  331 
Privy  Council,  the,  of  Weimar,  i., 

289-295,  313,  317,  322,  337;  ii., 
76;  iii.,  136 

Professor,  Goethe’s  desire  to  be  a, 

1.,  40,  45/.;  urged  by  friends  to 
be  a,  137/. 

Prolog,  7.  Mai,  1791,  ii.,  98 
Prolog  zu  den  neusten  Offenbarungen 
Gottes , verdeutscht  durch  Dr.  Carl 
Friedrich  Bahrdt,  i.,  204 
“Prologue  in  Heaven,”  scene  in 
Faust,  iii.,  296,  299,  304,  308, 
309 ff-,  3i8>  320,  323,  327,  352, 
355 

Prometheus,  iii.,  253 
Prometheus,  character  in  Pandora, 

11.,  389 ff.;  iii.,  110 

Prometheus,  hero  of  dramatic  frag- 
ment,  i.,  183,  247/.;  iii.,  142,  197 
Prometheus,  dramatic  fragment,  i., 
187,  204,  210,  239,  247/.,  252,  365; 

ii.,  29,  158,  159;  iii.,  142,  367 
Prometheus,  poem,  i.,  248,  433;  iii., 
47,  142,  375 

Prometheus  (Seckendorf  and  Stoll), 

ii.,  389 

Prometheus  Bound  and  Unbound, 
ü-,  39i 

Proömion,  iii.,  62 
Prophet,  Goethe  the,  ii.,  189 
Propyläen,  ii.,  325,  328 
Proserpina,  i.,  303;  ii.,  1 
Proserpine,  in  Faust,  iii.,  338/.,  340, 
353 

Protestantism,  Goethe’s,  iii.,  148 ff., 
35i  ff- 

Proteus,  iii.,  105 

Prussia,  i.,  107,  322,  326,  437; 


4iS 


Unfrei 


Prussia  ( continued ) 

ü.,  73.  89,  128,  150,  335,  340/., 
342/.,  348/.,  408,  421  ff.,  427.  449; 
iii. , 140,  141 

Psyche,  character  in  Satyros,  i., 

249  ff- 

Psyche  (Karoline  Flachsland),  i., 
146 

Psyche  (Fräulein  von  Keller),  i., 
275 ff- 

Punta  della  Campanella,  i.,  401 
Puppet  show,  i.,  38/. 

Purity,  Goethe’s,  i.,  4,  5,  19;  iii., 
1 76 

Purpose,  ultimate,  ii.,  16 ijF.;  adapt- 
ability  to,  178 

Pylades,  character  in  Iphigenie,  ii., 
uff. 

Pylades,  character  in  Euripides,  ii., 
4 

Pylades,  Goethe’s  friend,  i.,  24 ff. 
Pyramid  of  Cestius,  iii.,  187 
Pyramids,  the,  i.,  201 
Pyrenees,  the,  ii.,  142;  iii.,  113 
Pyrmont,  ii.,  334 

Quietist,  Goethe  no,  iii.,  142 

Raab,  ii.,  316 
Racine,  i.,  22 

Radical  evil,  Kant’s,  ii.,  175/. 
Radziwill,  Prince,  iii.,  376,  384 
Ramler,  i.,  78,  259,  260 
Rammeisberg,  i.,  339 
Ranke,  i.,  436 

Raphael,  i.,  122,  183,  268,  376,  381, 
382,  386,  404,  438;  iii.,  250 
Rapp,  i.,  264;  ii. , 317 
Rastlose  Liehe,  iii.,  375,  376 
Rationalism,  Goethe’s,  i.,  79,  92 
Ratisbon,  L,  31,  369;  iii.,  253 
Rauch,  iii.,  176 f. 

Raufbold,  character  in  Der  Renom- 
mist, i.,  42 

Raumer,  Karl  von,  iii.,  380 
Realist,  Goethe  a,  ii.,  151,  188 
Realp,  i„  353 
Rechenschaft,  iii.,  51/. 

Recke,  Elisa  von  der,  ii.,  444 
Reden,  Count,  ii.,  92 
Reden  an  die  deutsche  Nation 
(Fichte),  ii.,  180 

Reforms  introduced  by  Goethe,  i., 

319  ff- 

Reformation,  the,  i.,  173;  iii.,  138/., 
251,  272/. 

Rega,  the,  i.,  52 
Reich,  i.,  77 
Reichard  i.,  423 

Reichardt,  ii.,  90,  208,  334;  iii., 
263,  374 

Reichenbach,  iii.,  94 f. 


Reichenbach,  treaty  of,  ii.,  90 
Reichlin-Meldegg,  ii.,  150 
Reichshofen,  i.,  100 
Reiffenstein,  i.,  387,  407 
Reimarus,  iii.,  62 
Reineck,  Herr  von,  i.,  19,  309 
Reineke  Fuchs,  ii.,  118,  204 
Reinhard,  ii.,  151,  385,  419,  422; 
iii.,  166 

Reinhold,  ii.,  172 

Reise  am  Rhein,  Main  und  Neckar, 

111.,  15 

Reise  nach  Italien  (Herder),  i.,  439 
Reissiger,  iii.,  376 

“Reizender  ist  mir  des  Frühlings 
Blüte  (from  An  Beiinden),  i.,  218 
ileligion,  Goethe’s,  i.,  17,  20,  92, 
* 96,  158/.,  183,  248,  294,  340/.; 

ii-,  11 7.  446/.;  111.,  84,  234 ff.,  363/. 
Rembrandt,  iii.,  175 
Renaissance,  the,  iii.,  251,  272/., 
334,  336 

Renaissance  art,  i.,  380,  382,  384; 

11.,  326;  iii.,  262 

Renunciation,  Goethe’s,  ii.,  16 sff. 
Representative  Men  (Emerson),  i., 


417 

Reschwoog,  von,  i.,  131 
Resignation,  Goethe’s,  ii.,  165 ff., 
387;  iii.,  32/.,  239/. 

Reuchlin,  iii.,  273 
Reuss,  Prince,  ii.,  110 
Revolutions-Almanach  für  1795,  ii., 
445 

Rheingau,  the,  iii.,  7 
Rheinischer  Merkur,  iii.,  16 
Rhenish  Confederation,  the,  ii., 

341,342,345,408 

Rhine,  the,  i.,  9,  96,  143,  206 ff.,  210, 
229,  273,  343,  354,  368,  43°,  436: 
ii.,  105,  114,  118,  119,  124,  126, 
204,  274,  281,  282,  284,316,  317,. 
340,  341, 432,  434,  449!  hi.,  3/.,  6, 
14,  15/.,  25,  27,  28,  29,  186 
Rhine-Danube  Canal,  the,  iii.,  174 
Rhön,  the,  i.,  361 
Rhone,  the,  i.,  350,  352 
Rhone  Glacier,  i.,  352 
Richardson,  i.,  188;  ii.,  259 
Richter,  art  collector,  i.,  71 
Richter,  Jean  Paul,  see  Jean  Paul 
Richter,  Ludwig,  iii.,  79 
Richterswyl,  i.,  226;  ii.,  317 
“ Richtetest  den  wilden,  irren  Lauf’’ 
(from  Warum  gabst  du  uns  die 
tiefen  Blicke),  ii.,  3 
Riemer,  i.,  418,  433;  ii.,  329>  34.8, 
35i,  377,  39°,  433,  444,  45 3i  iü- 
108,  164/.,  328 

Riese,  i.,  44,  45,  47,  48,  49,  51,  86, 
i83 

Riesengebirge,  the,  11.,  90,  93 


Anbei  419 


Rietz,  iii.,  376 
Riga,  i.,  in 

Riggi,  Maddalena,  i.,  405/.,  439; 

111.,  62 

Rigi,  the,  i.,  227,  349;  ii.,  318 
Rinaldo  Rinaldini  (Vulpius),  ii.,  445 
Rino  (Frau  von  Stein),  i.,  279 
Rippach,  i.,  41 
Rochlitz,  i.,  424;  iii.,  194 
Röderer,  i.,  187,  426 
Roetteken,  i.,  423 
Röhr,  iii.,  366 
Rolle,  i.,  349 

Roman  Empire,  the,  ii.,  430 
Roman  House,  the,  iii.,  179 
Roman  über  das  Weltall,  i.,  365, 
410 

Romanticism,  ii.,  202 f.,  373;  iii., 

143  ff. 

Rome,  1.,  11,  14,  57,  x7°>  329,  379, 
381-395,  400,  402-407,  409,  418, 
432,  437,  438,  439;  ii-,  37,  4 3ff-> 
71,  75,  76,  77,  81,  105,  117,  182, 
203,  314,  329,  406,  441;  iii.,  98, 
99,  100,  116,  120,  187,  262,  287 
Rome,  King  of,  see  Archduke 
Joseph 

Römische  Elegien,  i.,  78,  406,  439; 
quotations  from,  385,  41 1,  and 

11.,  81;  88;  iii.,  65 

Römische  Geschichte  (Niebuhr),  iii., 
175  , 

Rosne,  de,  see  Derones 
Rousseau,  i.,  17,  79,  88,  120,  138, 
146,  150,  158,  188,  198,  201, 205, 
251,  271,  349;  ii.,  166,  175,  267; 

111.,  227,  274,  278 

Roussillon,  Fräulein  von,  i.,  145, 
146, 182 

Roveredo,  i.,  370,  371 
Rubens,  i.,  207;  ii.,  327;  iii.,  305 
Rubinstein,  iii.,  376 
Rudolstadt,  ii.,  184,  185 
Rudorfi,  Fräulein  von  (“die  Ru- 
del”), i.,  266;  ii.,  329,  444 
Ruhnken,  i.,  iii 
Ruprechtsau,  the,  i.,  119 
Russia,  i.,  53;  ii.,  340,  421,  423, 
424,  426,  427;  iii.,  138,  140,  141, 
253 

Ruth,  i.,  39 
Ryden,  i.,  58,  60 

Saale,  the,  iii.,  182 
Saalfeld,  battle  of,  ii.,  343 
Saar,  the,  i.,  100 
Saarbrücken,  i.,  100;  ii.,  275 
Sachs,  Hans,  i.,  121,  210;  iii.,  304/. 
“Sag’  ich’s  euch,  geliebte  Bäume,” 
i-,  3°4/- 

“Sag’,  wie  band  das  Schicksal  uns 
so  rein  genau”  (from  “Warum 


gabst  du  uns  die  tiefen  Blicke  ”), 

1.,  300 

St.  Agatha  (not  by  Raphael),  i.,  438 
St.  Cecilia  (Raphael),  i.,  381,  386 
St.  Claude,  i.,  349 
St.  Genevieve,  character  in  Tieck’s 
Genoveva,  iii.,  144 

St.  Gothard,  the,  i.,  227,  229,  268, 
352/.,  384;  ii.,  317/. 

Saint-Hilaire,  Geoffroy  de,  iii.,  95, 
1 10,  360 

St.  Joseph,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre,  ii.,  452; 

111.,  199,  213 

St.  Louis,  Knight  of,  i.,  98 
St.  Mark  in  the  Mud  (Venice),  ii., 
86 

St.  Mark’s,  in  Venice,  i.,  380 
St.  Ottilia,  ii.,  355,  376,  452 
St.  Peter,  iii.,  139,  140 
St.  Peter’s,  in  Rome,  i.,  383,  385 
St.  Petersburg,  i.,  183;  ii.,  442 
St.  Rochus,  iii.,  6/.,  9 
Saint-Simon,  iii.,  192 
Saints,  Darmstadt,  see  Darmstadt 
Saitschick,  ii.,  444 
Salis,  von,  i.,  212 
Salzburg,  i.,  369;  ii.,  269,  270,  279 
Salzmann,  i.,  64,  97,  99,  101,  122, 
13 1/-.  137. 143>  x52, 167,  169, 170, 
173,  211,  224,  426,  428;  111.,  253 
Samaria,  i.,  91,  343;  ii.,  407 
Sand,  iii.,  141 

Sankt  Joseph  der  Zweite  (in  Die 
Wanderjahre),  ii.,  452;  iii.,  190, 
196 

Sankt  Rochusfest  zu  Bingen,  iii.,  6/. 
Sarasin  (Langmesser),  ii.,  441 
Sardinia,  i.,  262 
Sartoux,  Count,  i.,  420/. 

Satan,  iii.,  297,  299 

Satyros,  hero  of  the  drama,  i.,  249 ff. 

Satyros,  i.,  249 ff. 

Sauer,  i.,  425 
Saussure,  de,  i.,  351/. 

Savoy,  ii.,  190 

Saxony,  i.,  261,  309,  311,  437;  ii., 
93.  I5°>  i83>  i9°>  341,  445’.  iü-> 
379 

Scaligers,  the,  tombs  of,  i.,  371 
Scepticism,  Goethe’s  attitude  tow- 
ard,  i.,  92,  158;  see  religion 
Schadenfreude,  iii.,  374 
Schäfers  Klagelied,  iii.,  375,  376 
Schaffhausen,  i.,  225,  353;  ii.,  317 
Schardt,  Frau,  i.,  266,  435;  ii.,  185 
Schardt,  Councillor  von,  i.,  266 
“Schärfe  deine  kräft’gen  Blicke” 
(from  Einlass),  ii.,  387 
“Schau,  Liebchen,  hin!”  (from 
Sonnette,  No.  15),  ii.,  331 
Scheibler,  ii.,  451 


420 


llnbex 


Scheidemantel,  ii. , 443/. 

Scheintod , iii.,  374 
Schellhorn,  Cornelia,  i.,  11,  38 
Schelling,  ii.,  180/.,  202,  317,  324, 
327.335.  390,  429,  447.  452/.; 
in-,  144/.,  146,  149.  338 

Schenkendorf,  iii.,  79 
Scherer,  Wilhelm,  i.,  231,  423:  ii., 
453;  iü-.  381 

Scherz,  List  und  Rache , i.,  404 
Schicksal  der  Handschrift,  iii.,  92 
Schiller,  i.,  3,  258,  270,  273,  280, 
33°.  334.  354,  365,  367.  400,  418, 
433.  437;  ii->  5.  3r>  32,  78,  81, 
84,  93. 95,  I24,  128,  138,  140,  151, 
160,  182—210,  217,  260,  262/., 
268,  274,  281,  290,  296,. 306,  309 f., 
3r3>  3M.  3:7,  3'9.  32i,  324,  325. 
327.  329,  33°,  331,  333,  335.  337, 
422,  426,  444,  446,  447,  448,  449, 
45°.  453;  iü-,  52,  61,  109,  118, 
125,  127,  131,  132,  144,  189,  228, 
238,  261/.,  263/.,  286,  291,  301, 
3°5.  3o6>  3°7 328,  329,  334, 

365,  381 

Schiller,  Charlotte  von  ( nee  Lenge- 
feld), ii.,  80,  184/.,  187,  333, 

444;  iü-,  i59,  I9I 
Schiller  (Weltrich),  ii.,  447 
Schillers  Briefe  (Jonas),  i.,  433;  ii., 
448 

Schinkel,  i.,  438 

Schlegel,  A.  W.,  i.,  430;  ii.,  202,  262, 
3°9>  334,  450;  iü-,  *4 3ff- 
Schlegel,  Dorothea,  ii.,  203 
Schlegel,  Friedrich,  ii.,  202,  262, 
263,  385,  452;  iii.,  143 ff-,  i47, 
148/. 

Schlegel,  Karoline,  ii.,  203;  iii., 
144 

Schleiermacher,  ii.,  416 
Schleswig-Holstein,  ii.,  421 
Schlettstadt,  i.,  139 
Schlosser,  Christian,  iii.,  8/. 
Schlosser,  Fritz,  iii.,  8/.,  180 
Schlosser,  Georg,  i.,  49,  52/.,  86, 
147,  152,  167,  182,  184,  224,  310, 
347;  ii.,  119,  206;  iii.,  8,  63 
Schlosser,  Hieronymus,  i.,  183;  iii., 
8 

Schlösser,  L.,  iii.,  376 
Schmid,  C.  H.,  i.,  176 
Schmidt,  Erich,  i.,  425,  430,  435, 
438;  ü-,  352,  444;  iü-,  381 
Schnaps,  character  in  Der  Bürger- 
general, ii.,  123,  125 
Schneeberg,  i.,  367 
Schneekoppe,  the,  ii.,  93 
Schneider,  i.,  19,  27/.,  419 
Schöll,  i.,  425,  430,  436 
Schöllenen,  the,  i.,  227 
“Schon  längst  verbreitet  sich’s  in 


ganze  Scharen  ” (from  Epilog  zu 
Schillers  “Glocke"),  iii.,  369 
Schönbom,  i.,  236,  246 
Schönemann,  Elisabeth  (Lili),  i., 
216,  2x9-234,  239,  240,  241,  245, 
300,  328/.,  346,  384;  ii.,  2,  274 ff., 
289,  293,  301,  307/.,  362,  440, 
449,  45°;  m.,  12,  17,  18,  25,  27, 
45,  49 

Schönemann,  Frau  ( nee  D’Orville), 
i.,  216,  221 

Schönkopf,  Anna  Katharina  (Kät- 
chen),  i.,  53 ff.,  68,  78,  81, 91,  133, 
134,  425;  iii.,  155 

Schönkopf,  C.  G.,  i.,  53,  55,  68,  69, 
89,  218 

Schönkopf,  Peter,  i.,  60 
Schopenhauer,  iii.,  281 
Schopenhauer,  Johanna,  ii.,  416, 
444,  445 
Schröer,  ii.,  448 

Schröter,  Corona,  i.,  265 /.,  314,  435 
Schubart,  i.,  176,  198/.;  ii.,  423 
Schubart,  Martin,  i.,  420 
Schubarth,  ii.,  165,  385 
Schubert,  iii.,  374 /. 

Schuchardt,  iii.,  16 3/.,  168 
Schuckmann,  von,  ii.,  90,  445 
Schüddekopf,  iii.,  379 
Schuft,  character  in  Hanswursts 
Hochzeit,  i.,  232 

Schulthess,  Barbara  (Bäbe),  i.,  225, 
408,  432;  ii.,  105,  273,  276/.,  278, 
320;  iii.,  207 
Schultz,  iii.,  166,  176/. 

Schulz,  Fräulein,  i.,  61 
Schulz,  J.  A.  P.,  iii.,  375 
Schumann,  iii.,  374/. 

Schurke,  character  in  Hanswursts 
Hochzeit,  i.,  252 
Schütz,  i.,  387 
Schütz,  Professor,  ii.,  335 
Schwalbach,  ii.,  119 
Schwaz,  i.,  369 
Schweidnitz,  ii.,  90 
Schweighäuser,  ii.,  450 
Schweitzer,  i.,  35 
Schweizeralpe,  iii.,  66 
Schweizerlied,  iii.,  376 
Schwind,  iii.,  79 
Schwyz,  i.,  227;  ii.,  317 
Schwyzer  Haken,  the,  ii.,  317 
Science,  Goethe’s  internst  in,  i.,  16, 
30,  102,  361  ff.',  ii.,  76;  see  the 
various  Sciences 

Scientist,  Goethe  the,  iii.,  81/jF.,  173 
Scott,  Walter,  iii.,  173,  175 
Sculpture,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  100, 
122,  371/J.;  iii.,  98 
Seckendorf!',  Chamberlain  von,  1.. 
262,  295,  434,  435;  ü-.  442;  iii-, 
374 


Unfrei 


421 


Seckendorf,  Leo  von,  ii.,  389 

Seebeck,  ii.,  416 

Seekatz,  i.,  21,  30 

Segesta,  i.,  399 

Sehnsucht,  iii. , 376 

Seidel,  i.,  369,  418,  433;  ii.,  213 

Seidler,  Luise,  ii.,  416;  iii.,  7 

Seine,  the,  iii.,  2 

“Seit  ich  von  Dir  bin”  (from  An 
Lida),  i.,  306 

Selige  Sehnsucht,  quotations  from, 

11.,  72,  165 ; iii.,  62 
Selima,  i. , 39 
Senckenberg,  i.,  419 
Senckenberg  (Kriegk),  i.,  419 
Serlo,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, ii.,  235 ff. 

Sesenheim,  i.,  100, 123 ff.,  240,  345/., 
426;  iii.,  45,  64,  252,  256,  270, 
294 

Seuffert,  ii.,  451 
Seven  Mountains,  the,  i.,  210 
Seven  Years’  War,  the,  i.,  20 ff., 
256,  310,  322,  420 
Seydlitz,  ii.,  91 
Seyler,  i.,  257 

Shakespeare,  i.,  62,  76,  77 ff.,  109, 
114,  115,  116  ff.,  121,  131,  142, 
143, 167, 170,  175,  176,  177,  179, 
246,  33°.  426;  11.,  96/.,  135,  157, 
208,  214,  233,  234,  235,  238,  268, 
448;  iii.,  105,  184,  250,  271,  300, 
304, 368,  374 
Shiraz,  iii.,  3 

Sicily,  i.,  95,  397 ff-,  4°5;  “•>  3 731 

111.,  92,  100 

Sickingen,  character  in  Götz,  i.,  172 
“Sie  schwankt  und  ruht,  zum  See 
zurückgedeichet  (from  Mächtiges 
Überraschen),  ii.,  404 
Sieben  Kompositionen  zu  Goethes 
Faust  (Wagner),  iii.,  376 
Siebenschläfer,  iii.,  58 
Siewer,  Dr.,  iii.,  116 
Sieyes,  ii.,  142 

Silesia,  i.,  323;  ii.,  89-93,  199,  217; 

iii.,  103 

Silesian  wars,  i.,  20 
Simon  Magus,  iii.,  272 
Simplicissimus,  ii.,  262 
Simplon,  the,  iii.,  186 
Sinuses,  frontal,  iii.,  107 
Sismondi,  iii.,  192,  223 
Sistine  Chapel,  i.,  385, 386,  404,438; 

iii.,  271 

Sistine  Madonna,  the,  i.,  268 
Skeletons,  Goethe’s  collection  of, 

iii.,  163 

Skull,  the,  vertebral  origin  of,  ii., 
88;  iii.,  1 12 
Smolensk,  ii.,  420 
“So  lasst  mich  scheinen,”  iii.,  376 


“ So  sollst  du,  muntrer  Greis  ” (from 
Phänomen),  iii.,  4 
Socrates,  i.,  131,  170;  iii.,  303 
Sokrates,  i.,  142;  ii.,  273 
Solger,  i.,  418 

Söller,  character  in  Die  Mitschuldi- 
gen, i.,  83/. 

Solomon,  Key  of,  iii.,  317 
Solomon’s  Song,  i.,  29 
Solon,  i.,  1 50 
Solothurn,  i.,  349 

Sömmering,  ii.,  109,  119,  316;  iii., 
88 ff.,  169,  376,  378 
Sondershausen,  i.,  338 
Sonette,  ii.,  351/.;  quotation  from 
No.  r.,  404 

Song,  A,  over  the  Unconfidence 
toward  Myself,  i.,  86 
Sonnenfels,  i.,  150 
Sophie,  of  Saxony,  iii.,  379 
Sophie,  character  in  Clavigo,  i.,  237 
Sophie,  character  in  Die  Mitschuldi- 
gen, i.,  83/. 

Sophocles,  i.,  114,  199;  ii.,  115 
Soret,  ii.,  277;  iii.,  95,  165,  167/., 
169,  182,  379 
Sorrento,  i.,  438 
Soult,  ii.,  412 

Southern  Dwina,  the,  ii.,  420 
Spain,  i.,  24;  ii.,  413 
Sparta,  iii.,  339 
Spartianus,  i.,  132 
Spaun,  iii.,  375 
Speyer,  ii.,  114 
Spessart,  the,  i.,  174 
Spiegel,  Chamberlain  von,  ii.,  428 
Spielhagen,  ii.,  452 
Spielhagen- A Zfrww(Schmidt) , ii. , 3 52 
Spies,  Johann,  iii.,  271 
Spina,  Abbate,  i.,  407 
Spincourt,  ii.,  113 
Spinoza,  i.,  208,  248,  308,  421; 

ii.,  27,  156-181,  186,  188,  38 3/., 
446,  447;  iii.,  31  ff.,  84,  102,  105, 
1 31/-,  274,  278,  367,  377 
Spinoza  im  jungen  Goethe  (Hering) , 

11.,  446 

Splügen  Pass,  the,  i.,  408;  ii.,  105 
Spohr,  iii.,  375 
Spoleto,  i.,  387 

Sprichwörtliche  Redensarten  (Bor- 
chardt),  i.,  233 

Sprizbierlein,  Frau,  in  the  Urfaust, 

111.,  286 

Sprüche  in  Prosa  ( H .,  xix),  quota- 
tions from,  ii.,  453  and  iii.,  101, 
110,  123,  130,  131,  226,  376,  378 
Staatsverfassungsarchiv  (Luden),  iii. 
137 

Städel,  Rosette,  iii.,  13 
Stael,  Madame  de,  i.,  417,  434;  ii-, 
33°.  336, 443 


O. 


422 


Unfcei 


Stäfa,  ii.,  314,  31lff- 
Stägemann,  iii.,  130 
Stahr,  ii.,  441 
Stans,  ii.,  318 
Stark,  Professor,  ii.,  334 
Stark,  Pastor,  i.,  19 
Statesman,  Goethe’s  ambition  to 
be  a,  iii.,  253/.,  258 
“ Staub,  den  hab’  ich  längst  entbeh- 
ret” (from  Allleben),  iii.,  6 
Staubbach  waterfall,  i.,  348 
Stavoren,  ii.,  89 

Stein,  Minister  vom,  iii.,  15 ff.,  373 
Stein,  von,  reformer  of  Prussia,  i., 
265 

Stein,  Frau  von,  i.,  64,  133,  229, 
264,  266,  279,  280,  298,  299-308, 
318,  321,  323,  339/.,  353,  357, 
36°,  364,  365.  367.  369.  372. 
3 88#.,  392/.,  409,  43°.  433.  435. 
436,  439;  11.,  1 ff.,  18,  32,  34,  35/-, 
38.  71,  73,  78#.,  81,  82,  106,  107, 
184,  185,  230,  232, 278, 309, 333, 
349.  355.  386,  431.  440,  44i. 443. 
445-  452;  ui.,  12,  33,  40 ff.,  43/., 
63.  83,  90,  91,  97,  98,  116,  118, 
132,  183/.,  224/.,  227,  260,  379, 
380 

Stein,  Fritz  von,  i.,  302,  360;  ii.,  79, 
!°7.  333.  444;  iü-,  103,  116,  226, 
229,  238 

Stein,  Master  of  the  Horse  von,  i., 
214,  229,  263,  264,  301,  321, 364, 

365 

Steinbach,  Ervinus  ä,  see  Ervinus 
Steinhardt,  Frau,  i.,  266 
Stella,  heroine  of  the  drama,  i., 
240 ff.,  433;  ü-.  277 
Stella,  i.,  85,  222,  239 ff.,  433;  ii., 
272,  279,  378;  iii.,  257 
Stella,  wife  of  Swift,  i.,  240 
Stern,  A.,  i.,  439 

Sternbald,  Franz,  character  in 
Tieck’s  Franz  Sternbalds  Wan- 
derungen, iii.,  148 
Stemberg,  Count,  iii.,  112 
Sterne,  i.,  429;  iii.,  226 
Sternheim  (Sophie  La  Roche),  i., 
146 

Stetten,  i.,  275 

Stiedenroths  Psychologie,  iii.,  131, 
x34 

Stock,  Dora  (Dorchen),  i.,  69 
Stock,  Frau,  i.,  69 
Stock,  J.  M.,  i.,  68/.,  155;  ii.,  183 
Stock,  Minna,  see  Minna  Körner 
Stoics,  the,  i.,  29 

Stolberg,  Christian  zu,  i.,  222 ff., 
225;  ii.,  207 

Stolberg,  Friedrich  zu  (Fritz),  i., 
222 ff.,  225,  291,  430/.;  ii.,  206, 
207;  iii.,  62,  79,  258 


Stolberg,  Auguste  zu  (Gustchen), 

1.,  229/.,  231,  240;  iii.,  45,  75/. 
Stolberg,  Katharina,  i.,  430/. 

Stoll,  Dr.,  ii.,  389 

Storm  and  Stress,  i.,  106 #.,  110, 

118,  122,  145,  150, 173, 174,  177, 
189,  201,  22  T,ff.,  238,  240,  248, 
279,  282,  316,  329,  356,  376; 

11.,  157,  162,  176,  191,  203,  213, 
432;  iii.,  47,  64,  168,  248,  272/., 

274,  278,  287,  288,  300,  304 
Strasburg,  i.,  88,  94,  95-140,  141/., 

158,  201,  209,  223/.,  228,  229,  243, 
246,  346/.,  376,  419,  423,  426, 
428,  430;  ii.,  146,  275,  281,  323, 
355.  441,  446;  iii-,  64,  82,  84, 
155,  248,  250,  233,  255 
Strasburg  cathedral,  i.,  95,  103/7., 

119,  228,  376;  ii.,  446;  iii.,  10, 
88,  147,  270 

Strassburger  Goethevorträge  (Ziegler 
et  al.),  iii.,  382 
Straube,  Frau,  i.,  47 
Strauss,  Richard,  iii.,  376 
Stricker,  i.,  418 

“Student”  scene  in  the  Urfaust, 

111.,  255;  in  the  Fragment,  261, 

275,  283,  286/. 

Studien,  quoted,  i.,  412 

Studien  zur  Goethe  Philologie  (Minor 
and  Sauer),  i.,  425 
“Study,”  scenes  in  Faust,  iii., 
318  ff. 

Stuttgart,  1.,  353;  11.,  105,  183,  317, 
320 

Stützerbach,  iii.,  137 
Style,  Goethe’s,  i.,  85 ff.,  117/.,  143, 
i47 ff-,  168,  174//.,  197//-.  237#., 
244,  252,  334//-,  34i.  4n/-;  H-. 
29 #-,  73/-.  IO°.  I34/f-,  197.  266, 
3°4 ff-,  380//..  402 ff.;  111.,  76 #., 
192 #-,  3°4 ff-,  355 38 3# 

Styria,  ii.,  94 
Suez  Canal,  the,  iii.,  174 
Suicide,  Goethe's  thoughts  of,  i., 
184,  187 

Suleika,  character  in  West-östlicher 
Divan,  iii.,  14,  19,  20,  21,  22, 
23.  27,  5/.  66,  375 
Sulpiz  Boisseröe,  (Mathilde  Bois- 
ser6e)  i.,  417,  438 
Swabia,  i.,  9;  ii.,  190,  195,  317 
Sweden,  ii.,  421 
Swift,  i.,  115,  240 

Switzerland,  i.,  3,  139,  143,  183, 
212,  225#.,  315/.,  329,  337, 

34 3#-,  355/-.  43°/-.  436;  u-,  190. 
314 ff-,  325.  34o;  ui-,  186,  197, 
215.  257 

Symbolical,  the,  in  Goethe’s  poetry, 

iii.,  33,  56 ff.,  68/. ; distinction  be- 
tween,  and  the  allegorical,  306/. 


Unfcei 


423 


Symbolism,  Goethe’s  definition  of, 

iii.,  131 

Symposium.  (Plato),  i.,  421 
Syracuse,  i.,  399 
Syria,  iii.,  1 

Systeme  de  la  Nature  (Holbach),  i., 
1 19 

Systeme  Industriel  (Saint-Simon), 

iii.,  192 

Szymanowska,  Mme.,  iii.,  x66 


Tacitus,  ii. , 413 

Tag- und  Jahreshefte,  iii.,  131;  see 
Annalen 
Talma,  ii.,  409 
Tancred  (Voltaire),  ii.,  321 
Taormina,  i.,  400 
Tamowitz,  ii.,  92,  93 
Tartarus,  ii.,  17 

Tasso,  hero  of  the  drama,  ii.,  35 ff., 
76,  441,  443 

Tasso,  i.,  308,  364,  403,  407,  410; 

11.,  i.,  6,  33-74,  80,  84,  85,  123, 
i34.  138,  191,  203,  272,  280, 
381,  383-  44i ff-,  446;  111.,  260 

Tasso,  the  poet,  i.,  374,  438;  ii., 
33/.,  50 

Taunus  Mountains,  the,  i.,  14,  143; 

111.,  15 

Tauris,  ii.,  3 ff. 

“Tausend  andern  verstummt,’’  etc. 
(Schiller’s  Der  griechische  Genius) , 
ü-,  3*3  „ 

Teleology,  Goethe’s  rejection  of,  iii., 
102 

Teil,  i.,  431 ; ii. ,3 x 8 
Tempe,  i.,  147 

Teplitz,  ii.,  415/.,  419/.,  431,  432; 

iii.,  28 

Terence,  i.,  40;  ii.,  321 

Terni,  i.,  391 

Terracina,  i.,  395 

Teufelsaltar,  the,  i.,  342 

Teufelsbrücke,  the,  i.,  227 

Textor,  J.  W.,  i.,  10,  20,  26,  38, 


309,  422 

Textor,  Katharina  Elisabeth,  see 
Katharina  Elisabeth  Goethe 
Thames,  the,  iii.,  174 
The  Hague,  ii.,  116 
Theatre,  the,  Goethe’s  interest  in, 
i.,  22,  39,  45,  257/.,  394;  ii., 
94 ff-,  32I>  349,  411,  417;  in-, 
151  ff-,  XÖ2 

Theatre  Franjais,  ii.,  409 ff. 
Theology,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i., 
29/.,  79;  iii.,  173;  see  religion 
Therese,  character  in  Wilhelm 
Meister,  ii.,  250 ff.,  265;  iii.,  224 
Thibaut,  iii.,  10 
Thiele,  i. , 68 

Thirty  Years’  War,  i.,  106;  ii.,  113 


Thoas,  character  in  Iphigenie,  ii.,  6 ff 
Thoas,  character  in  Euripides,  ii., 
3 

Thonon,  iii.,  115 
Thoranc,  Count,  i.,  21  ff.,  420 
Thouret,  architect,  ii.,  317 
Thousand  and  one  Nights,  ii.,  451 
Through  Nature  to  God  (Fiske),  iii., 
3xo 

Thun,  i.,  347 

Thurmgia,  1.,  11,  157,  273,  322, 
361;  11.,  184,  190,  204,  339,  341, 
444,  445,  449;  iii.,  29,  112,  271 
Thusnelda  (Luise  von  Göchhausen), 

1.,  264 

Tiber,  the,  ii.,  76 
Tiberius,  i.,  439 

Tieck,  i.,  239 ; ii. , 202 ; iii.,  144/.,  146 
Tiefurt,  i.,  258;  iii.,  179 
Tilsit,  ii.,  425 

Timur,  character  in  West-östlicher 
Divan,  iii.,  3,  14 
Tintoretto,  ii.,  87 

Tischbein,  i.,  383,  387,  394,  395/7. 
Tischlied,  iii.,  376 
Titian,  i.,  197,  376,  438;  ii.,  87 
Trägodie  aus  der  Christenheit, ii.,417 
Traite  de  V Association  Domestique 
et  Agricole  (Fourier),  iii.,  192 
Transfiguraiion  (Raphael),  i.,  386 
Translucent  media,  Goethe’s  theory 
of,  iii.,  121)7. 

Trapp,  i.,  96/. 

Trebra,  i.,  420 
Treitschke,  ii.,  454 
Trent,  i.,  369/.;  iii.,  5 
Treptow,  i.,  52 

Treves,  i.,  310;  ii.,  109,  113,  114 
Trilogie  der  Leidenschaft,  iii.,  158, 
161 , 166,  381 
Trippei,  i.,  388 

“Trocknet  nicht,  trocknet  nicht,” 
see  Wonne  der  Wehmut 
Troost,  i.,  987. 

Trost  in  Tränen,  iii.,  376 
Troy,  ii.,  12;  iii.,  268,  339,  341 
Trziblitz,  iii.,  161 
Tschingel  Glacier,  i.,  348 
Tübingen,  ii.,  317 

Tunnels,  Goethe’s  interest  in,  iii., 
174 

Türck,  111.,  57,  383 

Türckheim,  Bernhard  von,  i.,  346; 

11.,  275,  301 ; iii.,  25 
Turkey,  ii.,  89,  424 

Type,  Goethe’s  hypothesis  of  an 
anatomical  and  vegetative,  iii., 
104/. 

Typical,  the,  i.,  412;  ii.,  136,  3067.; 

111.,  33,  loof. 

Typus,  quotation  from,  iii.,  83 
Tyrol,  ii.,  190 


424 


Anbei 


“Über  allen  Gipfeln  ist  Ruh,” 
..iii.,  66;  quoted,  362;  376 
Über  Anmut  und  Würde  (Schiller), 
, . iii.,  132 

Uber  das  Verhältnis  der  bildenden 
Künste  zu  der  Natur  (Schelling), 
..  ii. , 180 

Uber  das  Weltall , see  Roman  über 
..das  Weltall 

Uber  den  Granit,  quotation  from,  i., 
..  34o/.;  362;  iii.,  113 
Uber  die  ästhetische  Erziehung  des 
..  Menschen  (Schiller),  ii.,  193 
Uber  die  Lehre  des  Spinoza  (Jac- 
..  obi),  ii.,  159 

Über  die  Sprache  und  Weisheit 
..  der  Indier  (Fr.  Schlegel),  iii.,  148 
Über  Wahrheit  und  Wahrschein- 
lichkeit der  Kunstwerke,  ii.,  328 
“Übermensch,”  i.,  4;  ii.,  137;  iii., 
280/. 

XJhland,  iii.,  52,  68,  79,  146 
Ukraine,  iii.,  253 
Ulm,  iii.,  383 

“Und  da  duftet’s  wie  vor  alters” 
(from  Im  Gegenwärtigen  Vergang- 
nes), iii.,  4 

“Und  es  ist  das  ewig  Eine”  (from 
Parabase),  iii.,  85 

“ Und  frische  Nahrung,  neues  Blut,” 
see  Auf  dem  See 

“Und  so  geschah’s!”  etc.,  see 
Epilog  zu  Schillers  “ Glocke  ” 
“Und  so  lang  du  das  nicht  hast” 
(from  Selige  Sehnsucht) , ii.,  165 
“Und  sogleich  entspringt  ein  Le- 
ben” (from  Allleben),  iii.,  6 
“Und  umzuschaffen  das  Geschaffne  ” 
(from  Eins  und  Alles),  iii.,  106 
Unger,  ii.,  217 

Universality,  Goethe’s,  i.,  4,  79; 
iii.,  368 

University  of  Erfurt,  ii.,  150 
University  of  Giessen,  i.,  11,  152, 
419 

University  of  Halle,  ii.,  346 
University  of  Heidelberg,  i.,  429; 
ü-.  354 

University  of  Jena,  i.,  237,  314,  318, 
321;  ii.,  76,  150,  185,  191,  317, 
322,  335/.,  344,  346;  iii.,  137, 
I4i/-,  149,  181 

University  of  Leipsic,  i.,  11,  41  ff., 
419.  424 

University  of  Leyden,  i.,  260 
University  of  Strasburg,  i.,  88,  94, 
95 ff-,  260 

University  of  Tübingen,  ii.,  317 
University  of  Würzburg,  iii.,  383 
Unschuld,  iii.,  374 
Unterhaltungen  deutscher  Ausge- 
wanderten, ii.,  128,  446 


Unterseen,  i.,  348 
Upper  Palatinate,  i.,  322 
Upper  Saxony,  i.,  312 
Upper  Silesia,  ii.,  92,  93  190, 

Upper  Weimar,  i.,  269 
Ural,  the,  ii.,  340 

Uranie,  see  Fräulein  von  Roussillon 
Urfaust,  the,  i.,  245,  264;  ii.,  85, 
159;  iii.,  251,  255,  258,  260/.,  275, 
283,  284,  286,  287,  288,  293, 
296,  313,  320,  357,  381,  382, 383, 

384 

Urner  Loch,  the,  i.,  227,  268 
Urner  See,  ii.,  318 
“Urpflanze,”  the,  i.,  398;  ii.,  178, 
197,  448;  iii.,  92,  377/. 

Ursel  Blondine,  character  in  Hans- 
wursts Hochzeit,  i.,  252 
Urseren  Tal,  i.,  268,  353 
“Urtier,”  Goethe’s  term,  iii.,  378 
Usong  (Haller),  i.,  31 1;  iii.,  253/. 
Uz,  i.,  259 


Val  Moutier,  the,  i.,  347 
Valentin,  Veit,  i.,  422;  ii.,  451;  iii., 

383 

Valentine,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 
261,  296/. 

Valentinus,  Basilius,  i.,  93 
Valeri,  Antonio,  i.,  439 
Vallee  de  Joux,  the,  i.,  349 
Valmy,  ii.,  inj.,  153 
Vanessa,  wife  of  Swift,  i.,  240 
Vanitas!  Vanitatum  vanitas,  iii., 
51,'  376 

Vamhagen  von  Ense,  i.,  428;  ii., 
108,  420 ; iii.,  1 50 
Velasquez,  i.,  197 
Velletri,  i.,  395 

Venezianische  Epigramme,  No.  7 
quoted,  ii.,  81;  quotation  from 
Ko.  4,  86;  88;  No.  57  quoted, 
147;  No.  52  quoted,  148;  quo- 
tation from  No.  50,  149;  204,  207 
Venice,  i.,  373 ff.,  382,  391,  408, 
437.  438;  ü-,  82,  86 ff.,  89,  91, 
105,  217;  iii.,  5,  20,  112 
Venus  of  Medici,  i.,  407 
Verdun,  ii.,  110 /.,  113 
Verhandlungen  der  Kaiserlich  Leop. 

Karol.  Akad.  d.  Wiss.,  iii.,  90 
Vermächtnis,  quotation  from,  ii., 
166;  iii.,  62,  193 

Verona,  i.,  370 ff.,  382,  387;  ii..  88 
Verrocchio,  i.,  438;  ii.,  87 
Vers  irreguliers,  i.,  248;  ii.,  29.  440, 
441 ; iii.,  20 
Versailles,  ii.,  102 
Verschaffelt,  i.,  407 
Versuch,  die  Metanwrphose  der 
Pflanzen  zu  erklären,  ii.,  85;  iii., 
92 ff-,  95.  io3.  I04.  36° 


Infcei 


425 


Versuch  einer  Geschichte  des  Volks- 
schauspiels vom  Dr.  Faust  (Creiz- 
enach),  iii.,  381 

Versuch  einer  Witterungslehre , iii., 
r32 

Versuch  über  den  Roman  (Blancken- 
burg),  ii. , 260 

Versuch  über  die  Gestalt  der  Tiere, 

iii.,  103 

Vesuvius,  i.,  395,  396 
Vevay,  i.,  349 

Vicar  of  Wakefield  (Goldsmith),  i., 
115,  123,  124 

Vicenza,  i.,  372 /.,  377,  408;  ii., 
88 

Victor,  General,  ii.,  343 
Viehoff,  i.,  420 

Vienna,  i.,  31,  272,  429;  441; 

Congress  of,  iii.,  135;  174,  253 
Vier  Jahreszeiten , Herbst,  No.  62 
quoted,  ii.,  153 

Villa  Borghese,  iii.,  270;  see  Bor- 
ghese gardens 
Villemain,  iii.,  175 
Virchow,  iii.,  97/. 

Virgil,  i.,  131,  259;  ii.,  34,  42,  44 
Vischer,  Fr.,  iii.,  382 
Vischer,  Peter,  ii.,  327 
Vistula,  the,  ii.,  424 
Viticuiture,  Goethe  interested  in, 

iii.,  182 

Vitznau,  i.,  227,  228 
Vogel,  Dr.,  iii.,  165,  364/.,  384/. 
Voigt,  Minister  von,  ii.,  149,  331, 
332-  349.  4M.  433;  iü-.  r37>  142, 
149 

Voigt,  Councillor  von,  ii.,  428 
Volga,  the,  iii.,  177 
“Volk  und  Knecht  und  Überwin- 
der” (from  Buch Suleika) , iii.,  23 
Volkmann,  i.,  438 
Volks  und  andere  Lieder  (Secken- 
dorff),  i.,  434 

Volksfreund  (Ludwig  Wieland),  iii., 
i37 

Volkslieder  (Herder),  iii.,  59,  62, 


145.  374 

V olksmärchen  der  Deutschen  (Mu- 
säus),  i.,  262 
Volkstädt,  ii.,  185 
V ollkommene  Emigrationsgeschichte 
(Göcking),  ii.,  270/.,  449 
Vollmondnacht,  quotation  from,  iii., 
7i 

Volpato,  i.,  439 
Volpertshausen,  i.,  160 
Voltaire,  i.,  9,  37,  119,  177;  ii.,  321, 

411,  413 

Vom  Berge,  quoted,  i.,  226 
Von  den  farbigen  Schatten,  iii.,  119, 
124 

Von  den  göttlichen  Dingen  und 


ihrer  Offenbarung  (Jacobi),  iii., 
63 

V on  der  Einsamkeit  (Zimmermann), 

1.,  229 

“Von  der  Gewalt,  die  alle  Wesen 
bindet”  (from  Die  Geheimnisse), 

11.,  165 

Von  deutscher  Art  und  Kunst  (Her- 
der), i.,  176 

Von  deutscher  Baukunst,  i.,  105, 142  J 

ii.,  45°;  iü-,  253 

“Vor  dem  Glücklichen  her  tritt 
Phöbus”  (from  Schiller’s  Das 
Glück),  i.,  167 
Vorländer,  Karl,  ii.,  447 
Vorspiel  zu  Eröffnung  des  Weimar- 
ischen  Theaters,  ii.,  349;  quota- 
tion from,  iii.,  197 
Vosges,  the,  i.,  95;  ii.,  432 
Voss,  Abr.,  i 418 
Voss,  Heinrich,  i.,  418;  ii.,  385, 
444 

Voss,  J.  H.,  ii.,  202,  208,  282,  304, 
308,  309;  iii.,  10,  79 
Vulcanists,  the,  iii.,  113/?.,  212,  338, 
343 

Vulpius,  C.  A.,  ii.,  406,  444/. 
Vulpius,  Christiane,  see  Christiane 
von  Goethe 

Vulpius,  Ernestine,  ii.,  445 
Vulpius,  Juliane  Auguste,  ii.,  445 
Vulpius,  Ulrike,  iii.,  159 


Wackenroder,  iii.,  146 
Wagner,  character  in  Faust,  iii., 
257-275,  280,  282,  284,  313, 3I4, 
3l6,  335/- 

Wagner,  Heinrich  Leopold,  i.,  122, 
212,  291 

Wagner,  J.  J.,  iii.,  336,  383 
Wagner,  Richard,  iii.,  319,  376 
Wahle,  ii.,  445 

Wahlheim,  in  Werther,  i.,  155,  196 
Wahnfried,  iii.,  376 
Waldberg  von  Wien,  i.,  99 
Waldeck,  i.,  283/. 

Waldner,  Henriette  von,  i.,  428 
Waldner,  Luise  Adelaide  von,  i., 
266 

Wallensteins  Lager  (Schiller),  ii., 


“Walpurgis  Night,”  scene  in  Faust, 

iii.,  263,  296,  297 ff. 

“ Walpurgis-Night’s  Dream,”  scene 
in  Faust,  ii.,  209;  iii.,  300,  342 
Walzel,  i.,  431;  iii.,  379 
Wanderers  Sturmlied,  i.,  143;  iii., 
40,  47,  61,  62;  quotation  from, 

252;  376 

Wandrers  Nachtlied  (“Der  du  von 
dem  Himmel  bist”),  quoted,  i. 
287/.,  and  iii.,  36;  45/-. ..375-  376 


42Ö 


Intel 


Wandrers  Nachtlied  (“Uber  allen 
Gipfeln  ist  Ruh”),  quoted,  iii., 
362:376 

War,  Goethe  at  the  scene  of,  11., 
102-120 

War  Commission,  i.,  317,  319/.,  324, 
359 

Warsaw,  ii.,  346,  424 
Wartburg,  the,  iii.,  4,  138 ff.,  272 
“Warum  gabst  du  uns  die  tiefen 
Blicke,”  quotations  from,  i.,  300, 
and  ii.,  3 

“ Warum  stehen  sie  davor  ” ( Goethes 
Wohnhaus  in  Weimar ),  iii.,  166 
“Warum  ziehst  du  mich  unwider- 
stehlich” (from  An  Beiinden),  i., 
219/. 

“Was  bedeutet  die  Bewegung” 
(from  Buch  Suleika ),  iii.,  21 
“Was  der  Dichter  diesem  Bande” 
{Dem  Schauspieler  Krüger),  ii., 
28 

Wasen,  i.,  227 

Weber,  Karl  Maria  von,  iii.,  375 
Wechsellied  zum  Tanze,  iii.,  375 
Weckelsdorfer  Felsenstadt,  ii.,  92 
Wedel,  von,  i.,  262,  269,  343#., 
351,  434,  435 

“Weg  ist  alles,  was  du  liebtest” 
(from  Neue  Liehe,  neues  Lehen), 

i.,  218 

Weidenhof,  the,  i.,  n 
Weimar,  i.,  69,  100,  119,  158,  214, 
223,  232,  234,  235,  251,  254-326, 
329,  342,  348,  354,  355-367,  368. 
373,  376,  377.  386,  388,  389,  391, 
392,  408,  409,  410,  424,  425,  429, 
432,  433/-.  435.  437;  ü-,  2,  31, 
32,  33,  35,  37.  73,  75,  77,  78,  79, 
83,  85/.,  88,  89,  93,  95,  99,  103, 
105/jf.,  114,  118,  120,  124,  128, 
149,  I5°,  *72,  183  ff-,  198  ff-, 
202/.,  205,  212,  215,  274,  276,  278, 
3J3>  3I4,  3r5>  317<  32°,  321, 
329,  33°/?-.  337,  339,  342 ff.,  352, 
354,  388,  408 ff.,  413/-,  417,  420, 
423,  425,  426,  427,  43I/7->  44i/-, 
443,  445,  452,  453;  lü-,  2,  4,  9, 
13,  18,  28,  29,  40,  46,  63,  64,  90, 
112,  116,  117,  127,  136 ff.,  140/., 
144,  145,  151,  152,  162,  164, 

165/7.,  175,  i76,  178 ff.,  182,  183, 

185,  187,  254,  258,  260,  265,  266, 
271,  287,  332,  359,  361  ff.,  368, 
379,  381,  384 

Weimar- Album  (Diezmann),  i.,  434 
Weimar  Gymnasium,  i.,  262,  2717. 
Weimars  Album,  i.,  5 
Weinhold,  i.,  435 

Weinhold,  Karl,  zum  26.  Okt.,  1893 
(Schmidt),  ii.,  444 
Weisbach,  Werner,  i.,  439 


Weislingen.character  in  Götz,  i.,  133, 
171/iF.,  236,  432;  iii.,  256 
Weismann,  i.,  422 
Weisse,  C.  F.,  i.,  77,  79;  ii.,  445; 

111.,  46/. 

Weissenfels,  i.,  424 
Weissenstein,  the,  i.,  387 
“ Weit  und  schön  ist  die  Welt”  etc. 
(from  letter  to  Frau  Herder,  May 
4,  1790),  ii.,  89 
Wekhrlin,  W.  L.,  ii.,  423 
Wekhrlin,  Ludwig  (Böhm),  i.,  433 
Welling,  Georg  von,  i.,  93 
Weltgeisterei,  the,  i.,  281 
Weltrich,  ii.,  447 
Weltseele,  ii.,  324;  iii.,  52,  62 
“ Weltseele,  komm,  uns  zu  durch- 
dringen” (from  Eins  und  Alles), 

11.,  164 

Wengemalp,  the,  i.,  348 
“Wenn  du,  Suleika”  (from  Buch 
Suleika),  iii.,  20 

“Wenn  ich  auf  dem  Markte  geh’,’’ 
quotations  from,  iii.,  155,  156 
“Wenn  ich,  liebe  Lili,  dich  nicht 
liebte”  {Vom  Berge),  i.,  226 
Wer  ist  der  Verräter?  (in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre),  iii.,  193, 
201,  202/. 

“Wer  nie  sein  Brot  mit  Tränen 
ass,”  ii.,  230;  iii.,  376 
“Wer  sich  der  Einsamkeit  ergibt,” 

111.,  376 

“Wer  Wissenschaft  und  Kunst 
besitzt”  (from  Zahme  Xenien), 

111.,  132 

Werner,  geologist,  iii.,  115 
Werner,  character  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter, ii.,  223,  227/.,  236,  245,  249, 
252/.,  265 

Werner,  R.  M.,  i.,  429 
Werner,  Zacharias,  ii.,  350/.,  390; 
iii-,  145 

Werner  (Byron),  iii.,  265 
Wernigerode,  i.,  338 
Werther,  hero  of  the  novel,  i.,  28, 
155,  l6o,  189 ff.,  247,  253,  366, 
430,  432;  ii.,  72,  214,  226,  250, 
297,  336,  412,  443;  iü-,  59,  62, 
161,  197,  211,  276,  278;  Werther 
costume,  i.,  200,  223,  279 
Werther,  or  Werthers  Leiden,  see 
Die  Leiden  des  jungen  Werther 
Werthem,  Chamberlain  von,  i., 
263,  264 

Werthem  auf  Neunheiligen,  Jean- 
nette Luise  von,  i.,  265,  435 
Werthem-Beichlingen,  Emilie  von, 

1.,  264,  435 
Werthes,  i.,  208,  212 
Wesselhöft,  Betty,  ii.,  416 
Westminster  Review,  The,  iii.,  199 


Unfrei 


427 


West-östlicher  Divan,  quotations 
from,  ii.,  387,  405/.,  and  iii.,  4/., 
6,  14,  20,  21,  22,  23,  24,  27,  226; 
3 ff-,  I4,  29,  49,  58,  144,  146,  264, 

367 

Westphalia,  1.,  9;  11.,  421 
Wettstein,  i.,  164 

Wetzlar,  i.,  ri,  31, 152, 153-168,183, 
184,  185,  187,  189,  218,  295, 310, 
372,  405,  428,  431;  ii.,  114,  3085 

iii.,  253,  255,  270 
Weyland,  i.,  98,  100,  124,  126 
“Wie  des  Goldschmieds  Bazarläd- 
chen”  (from  Buch  Suleika),  ii., 

405 

“Wie  herrlich  leuchtet  mir  die 
Natur,”  see  Mailied 
“Wie  zum  Empfang  sie  an  den 
Pforten  weilte  ” (from  Marienbad 
Elegie),  iii.,  158 
Wieder  finden,  iii.,  62 
Wiegenlieder  (Bertuch),  i.,  262 
Wieland,  i.,  1,49,  77 /.,  79,  116,  144, 
146,  176,  178,  179,  204,  208,  21 1, 
214/.,  237,  256,  257,  258/.,  260, 
265,  267,  273,  275 ff.,  280,  296, 
311,  312,  365,  420,  435;  ii.,  85, 
112,  150,  172,  205,  208,  259,  264, 
272,  329,  344,  413,  414, 442,  45 1 • 

111.,  228,  250,  254,  258 
Wieland,  Ludwig,  iii.,  137 
Wieliczka,  ii.,  92,  105 
Wien,  Waldberg  von,  i.,  99 
Wiesbaden,  ii.,  119;  iii.,  4 ff.,  15,  17, 

28 

W ilhelm,  character  in  Die  Geschwis- 
ter, ii.,  2,  213 

Wilhelm,  character  in  Werther,  i., 
191 

Wilhelm  Meister,  hero  of  the  novel, 

1.,  141,  153,  410;  ii.,  214-268, 
362,  393,  394,  448/.;  iii.,  78,  190- 
246 

Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre,  i.,  22, 
39,  78,  116,  1767,  265,  360,  363, 
364,  410,  418,  436;  ii.,  72,  128, 
211-268,  269,  272,  274,  281,  313, 
450;  iii.,  12,  63,  64,  66/.,  143/-. 
189/.,  195,  196,  198,  201,  2X1, 

212,  213,  220,  23O,  239,  2ÖI 

Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre,  i., 
125,  342;  ii.,  128,  180,  241,  259, 
3X3.  333.  348,  353/-;  iii-.  22,  78, 
168,  171,  188,  189-246,  256,  264, 
330,  348,  378,  380/.,  383 


Wilhelm  Teil  (Schiller),  ii.,  193 
Wilhelmshöhe  Castle,  i.,  387 
Wilhelmstal,  ii.,  451 
Will,  freedom  of,  ii.,  159/. 
Willemer,  Jacob  von,  iii.,  11  ff.,  373 
Willemer,  Marianne  von  ( nee  Jung), 
i.,  3;  iii.,  uff.,  63/.,  161,  182,  373 


Willkommen  und  Abschied,  i.,  ii8‘ 
127 #■;  iü.,  39,  44.  47 
“Willst  du  dich  am  ganzen  er- 
quicken ” (from  Gott,  Gemüt  und 
Welt),  iii.,  102 

Winckelmann,  i.,  17,  70,  76,  79, 
107,  110,  261,  376,  384,  394;  ii., 
3 2 5 . 327;  iü-.  228,  229/. 
Winckelmann  und  sein  Jahrhundert, 
ü-,  417,  452;  iü-.  9.  I48 
Winckler,  i.,  50 
Winkel,  iii.,  7,  8 
Winkler,  i.,  71 
Winter,  i.,  429 
Winterkasten,  the,  i.,  387 
“Wisset  nur,  dass  Dichterworte” 
(from  Hegire),  iii.,  80 
“ Witches’  Kitchen,”  scene  in  Faust, 

iii.,  260,  261,  275,  282,  283,  287/., 
299 

Witkowski,  iii.,  299 
Wittelsbach  line,  i.,  322 
Wittenberg,  iii.,  271 
Woldemar  (Jacobi),  i.,  417 
Wolf,  Wilhelmine,  ii.,  338 
Wolf,  F.  A.,  ii.,  330,  338,  451;  iii., 
228 

Wolf,  Goethe’s  nickname,  i.,  161, 
418;  ii.,  407 
Wolf,  actor,  iii.,  153 
Wolf,  Frau,  actress,  iii.,  153 
Wolf,  composer,  iii.,  376 
Wölfehen,  Goethe’s  nickname,  iii., 
167,  361 

Wolfenbüttel,  ii.,  27 
Wolff,  orchestra  director,  i.,  263 
Wolff,  Frau,  i.,  266 
Wolff,  K.  F„  iii.,  94 
Wolfgang,  character  in  German- 
Latin  colloquy,  i.,  32 
Wolkengestalt  nach  Howard,  iii., 
1 16 


Wollheim,  iii.,  384 
Wöllwart,  Frau  von,  i.,  266 
Wolzogen,  Karoline,  ii.,  203 
Wonne  der  Wehmut,  iii.,  45,  48/., 
375.  376 

Wood-engraving,  Goethe’s  study 
of,  i.,  69 

World-woe,  i.,  190,  198,  201 
Worms,  i.,  96;  ii.,  114 
Wort  und  Bedeutung  in  Goethes 
Sprache  (Boucke),  iii.,  46 
Wrede,  Councillor,  i.,  234 
Würtemberg,  i.,  52,  353;  ii.,  34;  iii., 
361 

Würzburg,  iii.,  26,  27,  29,  383 
Wustmann,  i.,  423 


Xenien,  ii.,  203 ff.,  217,  262,  309, 
334,  448;  iii.,  144,  3°°-  306 


428 


Infcei 


Young,  poet,  i.,  259 
Young,  scientist,  iii.,  119 

Zabern,  i.,  100 
Zaberner  Steige,  i.,  100 
Zachariä,  the  poet,  i.,  42 
Zachariä,  brother  of  the  poet,  i.,  53 
Zahme  Xenien,  quotations  from, 

ii. ,  158,  and  iii.,  85/.,  132,  151 
1 Zelter,  i.,  188;  ii.,  32,  162,  330 /., 
1 337.  35°.  420,  426,  453;  iii., 

6,  19,  28,  142,  166,  187,  362, 
366,  374/-,  38°.  381 
Zermatt,  i.,  353 

“Zeugest  mir,  dass  ich  geliebt  bin  ” 
(from  Dem  auf  gehenden  Voll- 
monde), iii.,  183 
Zeus,  ii.,  391;  iii.,  227 
Zichy,  von,  iii.,  140/. 

Ziegenberg  Castle,  ii.,  451 
Ziegesar,  Silvie  von,  ii.,  387 
Ziegler,  Th.,  ii.,  447;  iii.,  382 
Ziegler,  Fräulein  von,  i.,  145,  146, 
241 

Ziller,  the,  i.,  369 

Zimmermann,  i.,  229,  279,  417;  ii., 
309 

Zöllner,  iii.,  376 

Zollverein,  the,  iii.,  16 

Zoölogy,  Goethe’s  study  of,  i.,  396; 

ii.,  323;  iii.,  93,  98,  378 
“Zu  den  Kleinen  zähl’  ich  mich” 
(cf.  Creizenach,  Briefwechsel  zwi- 
schen Goethe  und  Marianne  von 
Willemer,  2d  ed.,  p.  38),  iii.,  14 
Zu  Strassburgs  Sturm-  und  Drang- 
periode (Froitzheim),  i.,  426 


Zucchi,  i.,  388,  407 
Zueignung  (“Da  sind  sie  nun!”), 
i-,  425 

Zueignung  (“Der  Morgen  kam”), 

1.,  307;  quotation  from,  iii.,  34 
Zueignung  (Faust),  quotation  from, 

11.,  278/.;  314;  iii.,  262 
Zug,  i.,  228;  ii.,  318 
Züllichau,  ii.,  387 

Zum  Shakespeares  Tag,  i.,  116,  142; 
ü-,  i59 

Zumsteeg,  ii.,  317 

Zur  Bühnengeschichte  des  Götz  (Win- 
ter and  Kilian),  i.,  429 
Zur  Farbenlehre,  ii.,  100,  166,  323 /., 
353-  4i5,  452,  453;  iü-,  118-128; 
see  colour,  theory  of 
Zur  Leichenfeier  des  dritten  Septem- 
bers 1825,  quotation  from,  iii., 
366 

Zur  Morphologie,  iii.,  86,  94,  104, 
112,  129,  134,  377 
Zur  Naturwissenschaft,  iii.,  90,  376/. 
Zur  vergleichenden  Physiologie  des 
Gesichtsinnes  (Müller),  iii.,  128 
Zürich,  i.,  151,  204,  225,  228,  353, 
408,  432;  ii.,  273,  276,  317,  320; 
iii-,  257 

Zweibrücken,  i.,  100 
Zweilütschinen,  i.,  348 
“Zwinger,”  scene  in  Faust,  iii.,  275, 
293 

Zwingli,  iii.,  379 

Zwischen  beiden  Welten,  quoted,  iii., 
184 

“Zwischen  Weizen  und  Korn” 
(Mailied),  iii.,  376 


J}  Selection  from  the 
Cataiogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 


Complete  Cataiogue  sent 
on  application 


“The  definitive  Goethe  biography.”— 77ie  DiaL 


The  Life  of  Goethe 

By  Albert  Bielschowsky,  Ph.D, 

Authoriseti  iranslation  from  the  German  by 

William  A.  Cooper,  A.M. 

Assistant  Professor  of  German,  Stanford  University 

With  5 Photogravure  and  15  other  Illustrations 
Three  Volumes,  royal  8vo,  cloth  extra,  gilt  tops,  about  450  pages  each 
Each,  net,  $3.50.  Boxed,  net,  $10.00 

Vol.  I.  From  Birth  to  the  Return  from  Italy,  1749-1788 

Vol.  II.  From  the  Italian  Journey  to  the  VVars  of  Libera- 
tion, 1788-1815 

Vol  III.  From  the  Congress  of  Vienna  tc  the  Poet’s  Death, 
«815=1832 

“ A biography  worthy  to  rank  with  the  highest  production  of  its  kind. 
Certainly  nothing  that  has  yet  been  produced  gives  so  large  a conception  of  the 
poet,  the  statesman,  and  the  man.  We  are  lost  in  admiration  of  a greatness 
which  seems  even  more  brilliant  to  our  sight  by  human  weakness  and  the  power 
to  repent  and  atone.  "—Life. 

It  is  unanimously  acknowledged  that  the  Standard  biography  of  Goethe, 
and  the  most  populär  biography  of  any  man  written  in  Modem  German  is  that 
offered  by  the  late  Albert  Bielschowsky.  His  clearness  in  the  analysis  of  char- 
acters  and  in  the  presentation  of  fundamental  ideas  is  unsurpassed.  No  other 
biographer  has  ever  traced  the  intimate  relation  between  Goethe’s  personal 
experience  and  his  literary  creations  with  such  fine  appreciation  and  such  warm 
sympathy.” — Boston  Herold. 

“ Bielschowsky’s  ‘ Goethe  ’ deserves  a place  with  Boswell’s  and  Lockhart’s 
and  the  other  great  biographies.” — New  York  Globe , 


U the  teader  will  send  his  natne  and  address,  the  publishers  will  keep 
him  inlormed  regarding  their  new  publlcations. 


New  York  Q.  P.  Putnam’s  Sons 


Io  France,  England,  and  the  United  States,  this  work  iß  recognized  as 

Lthe  moat  important  of  all  the  contributions  to  modern  history,  It  piaces 
M.  Hanotaux  in  the  front  rank  of  Frencb  hiatorians  with  Cuizct  De 
Tccqueville,  and  Thiers, 



CONTEMPORARY  FRANCE 

By 

GABRIEL  HANOTAUX 

Formerly  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairt 
Translated  by 
John  Charles  Tarver 
and 

E.  Sparvel-Bayly 

Four  volumes.  Octavo.  Each  complete  in  itself  and  covering 
a definite  period.  Illustrated  with  portraits  in  photogravure. 
Sold  separate  ly,  each,  net,  $3-75. 

Vol.  I.  FRANCE  IN  1870-1873. 

Vol.  II.  FRANCE  IN  1873-1875. 

Vol.  III.  FRANCE  IN  1874-1877. 

Vol.  IV.  FRANCE  IN  1877-1882. 

“It  is  with  satisfaction  on  taking  up  one  of  the  most  important  contri- 
butions to  history,  to  find  the  work  so  sympathetically  and  exactly  translated 
as  is  M.  Hanotaux’s  ‘Contemporary  France.’  Such  a translation  fit*  the 
American  reader  to  appreciate  the  work  in  all  of  its  excellence.  . . . The 
first  of  the  four  volumes  challenges  our  attention  from  Start  to  finish,  because 
in  it  we  recognize  not  only  the  work  of  a careful,  trained  Scholar,  but  also 
that  of  the  first-hand  observer.  . . , M.  Hanotaux  guides  us  with  a 

very  personal  hand;  on  every  page  he  gives  recollections  of  the  great  men 
whom  he  himself  has  known.  . . . The  readers  of  tbis  volume  will  await 
with  keen  interest  the  publication  of  the  others.  Together  the  four  should 
form  a monument  of  Contemporary  history  indispensable  to  the  library  of 
the  .Student  either  of  recent  history  or  present  politics.” — The  Outlook, 


G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 

NEW  YORK 


LONDON 


“ The  Most  Brilliant  Historical  Workof  Years  ” 

The 

Greatness  and  Decline 
of  Rome 

By  Guglielmo  Ferrero 

Authorized  Edition,  5 Volumes , 6vo.  Each  S2J50  net 

Student' 's  Edition,  5 volumes,  Cr.  8vo.  $ 8.00  per  sei 
(Separately  $ 1.75  net  per  volume) 

Vol.  I.  The  Empire  Builders  Vol.  III.  The  Fall  of  an  Aristocracy 
Vol.  II.  Julius  Cssar  Vol.  IV.  Rome  and  Egypt 

Vol.  V.  The  Republlc  of  Augustus 

Uniform  with  **  The  Greatness  and  Decline  of  Rome.” 

Characters  and  Events  of  Roman  History 

Front  Cssar  to  Nero  (60  B.C.-70  A.D.) 

Authorized  Translation  by  Frances  Lance  Ferrero 

Svo.  With  Portrait.  $2.50  net 

Student' s Edition.  i2mo.  $1.50  net 

“ It  is  the  work  at  once  of  a Scholar  and  of  an  artist ; it  is  based  upon  founda- 
tions  of  the  most  solid  erudition,  and  it  is  marked  on  every  page  by  the  traces  of 
a brilliant,  imaginative,  and  exceedingly  original  mind.  Signor  Ferrero’s  genius 
is  less  reflective  than  dramatic ; the  picture  which  he  unrolls  before  us  is  crowded 
with  vivid  figures,  impelled  towards  sinister  conflicts  and  stränge  dooms,  strng- 
gling  now  with  one  another,  now  with  the  culminating  fury  of  forces  far  greater 
than  themselves,  to  be  swept  at  last  to  a common  ruin;  and  as  we  look  we  seem 
to  be  watching  one  of  those  Elizabethan  tragedies  in  which  the  wickedness  and  the 
horror  are  mingled  with  a mysterious  exaltation  of  despair.  * Where  wast  thou 
when  I laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth?  Declareif  thou  hast  understanding.’ 
That  is  the  text  of  which  Signor  Ferrero’s  history  is  the  commentary, — the  text  of 
the  littleness  of  man.  The  greatest  names  seem  to  lose  their  lustre  upon  his 
pages ; he  shows  us  the  ignorance  of  the  wise,  the  weakness  of  the  strong,  the 
folly  of  the  prudent,  the  helplessness  of  the  well-meaning ; the  rest  is  darkness  and 
fate.” — London  Spcctator. 

“ His  largeness  of  vision,  his  sound  scholarship,  his  sense  of  proportion,  hi» 
power  to  measure  life  that  has  been  by  his  observation  of  life  that  is — his  posses- 
sion  of  the  true  historical  sense.  . . . He  is  a bold,  not  to  say  audacious, 

proponent  of  new  theories  and  conclusions  wholly  at  variance  from  those  of  hi» 
innumerable  predecessors  in  this  most  industriously  cultivated  of  all  historic  fields. 
The  translation  is  competent  and  more  than  that,  and  the  history  is  good  reading 
throughout.  There  are  no  dry  pages.” — N.  Y.  Times. 

Send  for  complete  descriptive  circular 


G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 

New  York 


London 


The  Works  and  Letters 

of 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb 

Edited  by  E.  V.  LUCAS 

7 Volumes.  Octavo.  Very  Fully  Hlustrated.  Each,  net,  $2.25 

The  Works  are  divided  as  follows: 

I.  — Miscellaneous  Prose. 

II.  — The  Essays  of  Elia  and  the  Last  Essays  of  Elia. 

III.  — Books  for  Children. 

IV.  — Dramatic  Specimens. 

V. — Poems  and  Plays. 

VI.  and  VII. — The  Letters. 

The  Lucas  edition  of  the  works  of  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb 
is  now  complete  in  seven  octavo  volumes,  the  sixth  and 
seventh  being  devoted  to  the  letters  of  the  Lambs.  Mr.  E. 
V.  Lucas  is  recognized  as  the  authority  on  the  Lambs,  and 
his  skilful  arrangement  and  illuminating  notes  make  this  set  0 
certain  of  acceptance  as  the  Standard  library  edition.  The 
last  two  volumes,  covering  the  correspondence,  contain  many 
hitherto  unpublished  letters  written  by  Charles  Lamb  and  his 
sister  Mary,  whose  letters  are  now  for  the  first  time  included 
with  those  of  her  brother.  Charles  Lamb  was  a ready  and 
brilliant  letter-writer,  and  his  letters  to  his  close  friends,  such 
as  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  and  Southey,  with  the  editor’s  con- 
necting  notes  form  almost  a complete  record  of  some  of  the 
most  interesting  portions  of  his  life.  For  their  intimacy  and 
frankness  Lamb’s  letters  may  be  likened  to  those  of  Steven^ 
son  in  our  own  time,  and  they  deserve  equal  popularity. 


Send  for  Illustrated  Descriptive  Circular 


G.  P.  PUTNAM’S  SONS 

New  York  London 


d90zzzeooa 


seiJBjqn  XjjSJeAjun  0>ina 


\ 


8 BSVtV. 


